


Hated Enemy

by mikimac



Series: My hated beloved enemy [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Dark Sherlock, Human John, M/M, Master Sherlock, Master/Slave, Slave John, Slavery, Vampire Lestrade, Vampire Mycroft, Vampire Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikimac/pseuds/mikimac
Summary: Vampires have taken power, but Humans resist. A series of crimes could jeopardize the right of Mycroft in command of Albion. Sherlock and John work together to solve the case and find that the enemy can have various shades.





	1. When the sun doesn’t shine

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Odiato nemico](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841844) by [mikimac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikimac/pseuds/mikimac). 



> With this chapter begins the second part of "My hated beloved enemy." The relationship between Sherlock and John aren’t the best. I would say that they are just the worst, but we see a small light at the bottom of the tunnel.
> 
> Please, read the tags.
> 
> The characters don’t belong to me, but to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the BBC and the diabolical duo Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. This story has no profit. If you were to recall others, it would be a case and I apologize.
> 
> Enjoy the reading!

 

Months have passed since I wrote how the Vampires have assumed power, in a notebook found in a closet. I find it difficult to reconstruct the following events from a temporal point of view, because in the beginning I had no references. I don’t know how much time has elapsed since I was brought here, at 221B Baker Street, when the poor woman died of fear, when I discovered that the human resistance was creating major challenges for Vampires. I would like to know this date, because that night gave me the strength to continue living. I'm not ashamed to confess that, after the death of that poor woman, I was leaving me to die, overwhelmed by depression and guilt. I couldn’t find a reason to live, to continue to rebel against Sherlock and to my being a slave. Death seemed to me the best solution. Surely it would be the easier. Perhaps the most cowardly. Sometimes, it takes more courage to live than to die. Then, there was that night. Sherlock reduced me to be little more than a piece of furniture. I was bound and gagged, completely exposed and vulnerable, humiliated and degraded. If he tried to treat me now in the same way, just free, I would fill him of punches! Although, come to think, I would do him no real harm. In fact, I'd probably do ill just me. More than fist him, I should find something very durable, which hit him. The riding crop? No. That might please him and wouldn’t be a punishment. The skull would shatter. His violin would come out in bits and would be a shame.

Over the years, I realized that I can’t hide anything from Sherlock. He has this uncanny ability to read anyone, as if they were an open book. No matter that the subject is a vampire or a human. He watches you and rebuilds your story, through the clues discovered in every part of your being. The wrinkle on your forehead, the callus on your hand, the hair on the collar of your shirt, the stain on the cuff of your pants or the most worn shoe at one point rather than another. There are no secrets for him. We never talked about that night, but I'm sure he has organized it because he wanted to give me a jolt, a reason not to let me die. He was aware of my depression and found a way to force me to react. That night I gave back the energy to keep fighting and things also changed in the relationship between me and Sherlock.

 

 

**When the sun doesn’t shine**

 

As a first step, Sherlock brought me some clothes. Clothes. The word makes me smile because it isn’t indicative of what they were the first "dress" Sherlock gave me to wear. This, however, represented a considerable improvement, since my arrival at 221B Baker Street, no longer had any type of clothes.

One day Sherlock showed up in my room with a box. It was one of those packages that make the companies when they send to you something at home. I was lying on the bed, with the sheet pulled up to cover my belly. There wasn’t a corner of my skin that Sherlock hadn’t seen, fingered, touched, bitten or beaten, but find me covered was the only form of rebellion that was left to me and I wasn’t willing to let me look, finger, touch, biting and hitting, without resistance. When he opened the door, I stared at him in the eye, daring him to do what he wanted, as if I had been able to stop him. He looked back at him, not at all intimidated by my useless bellicosity. He approached the bed and leaned over the box: "Open it."

I looked from Sherlock to the box. For all I knew, it could be in it anything. By a handful spring, it hit my face when I opened the lid, the head of some friend of mine, who they had found and killed, to a sex toy or a tool for torture, he would have used it on of me. I walked over to the box and lifted the lid very cautiously, as if I were afraid it might blow up. I faced briefs and singlets in various colors and patterns.

"The size is your own, but you can try if you want. If something wasn’t right, I can change it."

I looked up at Sherlock, studying him for a few seconds to figure out where was the catch. The expression on his face was totally innocent, but I had learned long ago what he was good at hiding his real intentions. I pulled the sheet, so as to remove it from the bed, and draped it over my body, as if it were a Roman tunic, always keeping my eyes focused on Sherlock. His eyes lit up and his lips curled into a smile halfway between the ironic and amused: "Really? You wear it to go to the bathroom to try what I bought you? As if I'd ever seen you naked? Or as if I couldn’t wipe that sheet off, without making any effort?"

I didn’t deign him with an answer. Both knew perfectly well that his questions were rhetorical, and that mine was only an act of rebellion, also quite childish. I glared at him, daring him to try to take off the sheet.

Sherlock chuckled, raising his hands in surrender: "Peace. Today I have come in peace. Hold also on you that sheet. So much so, I'm already thinking about how to take off you singlet and panties."

I looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, but a part of me wanted to smile. I am a doctor. I know what the Stockholm’s Syndrome is. Become attached to your jailer, your tormentor. Defend him against anyone who tries to convince you that he is hurting you and you should charge him. Indulging those who torture you, because your wellbeing, your food, your survival depend from him. Because, in some way, the monster makes you feel safe and secure, by the mere fact that, if you follow his rules and his orders, he will not cause you more harm. How could I let that happen? How could I fall into the trap of the Stockholm’s Syndrome and feel affection and gratitude for the monster who beat and raped me, bound and imprisoned me, who had bleed me? Still, a tiny part of me was giving way to the temptation to play with Sherlock, to forget the bad things and build a real relationship with him by responding to his jokes.

I turned to the bathroom, dark-faced, angry with myself, because I felt that I was giving in to the allure of the vampire. I pulled the curtain and leaned against the box on the small cabinet in which there were spare towels. I pulled on a pair of panties and a singlet. It was wonderfully strange and pleasant experience the feeling of softness and the coolness of cotton on the skin again. Everything was perfect. Garments which aren’t pulled, were not large, they were not close. I didn’t ask myself how Sherlock had guessed my size. If I had asked him, he would snort, protesting that he doesn’t "guessed", but "deduced" it. I was watching the other garments in the box, when the curtain opened. I turned, knowing who I would find myself in front: "I tried only the first two pieces. I might have a little time, to see what's in the box? Master," I added quickly.

"There are other panties and other vests. Besides a few pairs of slippers. Come outside. I'm getting bored waiting. You look the rest of the stuff after. Provided that you don’t want me to help you to undress," he finished, whispering in low and persuasive tone.

I closed the box with a snap, and I brought it back on the bed: "No, thank you. I don’t need help."

Sherlock followed me, encircling my waist with his arms and pulling me to him, so that my back was resting on his chest: "What a shame. I already saw myself to take off the pants slowly to you, while I slipped my hands under your singlet, making you vibrate with lust and pleasure."

"Not interested," I said, dryly.

"Really? Some might say that you're lying," Sherlock chuckled again.

I knew he was referring to my cock, already semi-hard. It was something I hated. Sherlock knew how to touch me and where to touch me to get the result he wanted. It seemed that my body was like his violin and he was able to play it so that they come out the sounds he wanted. I tried not to see the way my body was reacting to stimulation and Sherlock's voice, completely ignoring my feelings. It was as if body, mind and heart were separate entities, that live together randomly in the same place.

"What do you want, in return for this  _gift?_  Sir."

Sherlock let me go and sat on the bed, crossing his legs elegantly: "I have a proposition for you. I guess it's very boring to spend time lying on this bed, to do nothing. Alone. You've surely noticed how much I am messy. I wish you would keep tidy and clean my apartment. In return for this, you can wear these clothes and take a few books to read, when you'll be in your room."

"In my prison," I corrected him, without hiding anger and sarcasm.

"There are worse prisons. If you want, I can always to know you some of them and leave you there for a while time. Maybe later you would appreciate what I offer you, without always being so irritating. "

We stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. I agreed not venture into a discussion about what it was a prison. Sherlock was allowing me to get out of that room and do something, even if this would further emphasized my condition as a slave.

"If you behave well and not make me nervous too, I could use you as an assistant for my experiments. I need someone to transcribe the notes to the computer, which I take. You're a doctor and you're smart enough, for a human, so you might really be useful to me."

I was biting my tongue not to scream in Sherlock’s face all that I thought about what he was telling me. He wasn’t recognizing my merits and my abilities. He was insulting me.

"Then, pet, are you going to answer me or you're so overwhelmed by the magnanimity of my offer, you can’t find the words with which to thank me?"

I was red-faced and furious. Not only he had denigrated me, but he was also making fun of me! He knew exactly how much I was hurt and I was doing every possible effort to keep from answering him, but Sherlock insisted. And I couldn’t stop my tongue, before it put me in trouble: "Apart from the fact that if you call slip and singlet as dresses, you should review the meaning of this word of a vocabulary, you expect that I will thank you because you are offering me the possibility to choose between just be your sex toy and your supply of food, or be a slave in a complete way, taking into clean your home, transcribing your notes, making you have fun in bed and giving you my blood? Master?"

Sherlock didn’t change expression and tilted his head, even though I could have sworn that he had escaped a smile: "That's right," he replied, as if he were a cat, who was purring.

Sherlock was exasperating and frustrating, but I couldn’t bear to remain closed between those four walls, nor to spend my days covered with a sheet: "I accept," I gave in, sighing.

"I had no doubt," Sherlock smiled, irreverent, jumping up.

He took the box, went to the closet and put it inside: "You'll have time to rearrange everything later. Now we go down. I want you to start work now. "

I stood beside the bed, waiting for him pulled off the collar and the leash, but the two objects not made their appearance.

Sherlock turned to me, irritated and surprised: "You need a written invitation?"

"Nothing collar and leash?"

Sherlock's lips stretched into a mischievous smile: "Do you begin to like the fact that I carry you around as if you were my beloved pet? Do you want me to take the collar and the leash? Maybe even handcuffs and riding crop? Could you also to tidy up the living room, even after doing some funny little game?"

I blushed violently: "I'm resisting, thanks," I said, dryly, while I reached him.

Sherlock chuckled, but said no more. Arrived in the living room, he explained what I could touch and what I shouldn’t even touching "with your sweet ass" or would be trouble. He said how to tidy the library and the various cards in the room. There were no newspapers. I wondered if they were even published. There weren’t a television or a radio. Despite I was released from my prison, I never knew what was going on outside those walls. If the human resistance had produced results.

I sighed. I had to content myself with what I had achieved.

 

 

For some time, that became our routine. When Sherlock was home, I was out of my prison, that I might reorder what he had messed up and help him in the transcription of the notes on his experiments. I had, as well, to know Mrs. Hudson, the woman who was preparing the food for me, since I had been led to 221B Baker Street. It happened by accident.

One afternoon, I was arranging the books in the library trying to decide what I would have brought to the room, while the living room was invaded by the solemn notes and majestic voices of "Carmina Burana" by Carl Orff, coming from the stereo seat next to the fireplace. Sherlock’s library is full of books dealing with each topic, because the information that could inspire the solution of a case may lie in the most unexpected and unlikely places. Including books, of any kind. Among the various tomes, I noticed there were a few novels starring vampires. I watched them, wondering if they contain real information about their race and how the legends and tales, of which they were protagonists were born.

I was overcome by the temptation to ask some questions to Sherlock, but I was sure that he wouldn’t answer me or that would demand something in return for information which would give me. I had no intention of giving him more than he would take alone.

"Misdirection," said a low, deep voice.

I gasped, turning to Sherlock, who was sitting at the kitchen table and looked very concentrated to examine blood samples under a microscope. With some fear, I wondered if he could read my mind.

"I don’t need to read your mind to know what you're thinking. You aren’t so hard to understand, pet. Rather. To me you're like an open book. And also one of those for children."

I shook the book in my hand, wondering what would have happened if I had launched on Sherlock's head. It would break the book or he would be done a little hurt? My reflection was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

"You have been saved at the last second, pet. I wouldn’t try to do what you're going through. Come in,” Sherlock muttered, still without taking his eyes from the microscope.

A lady, lean, with a friendly smile and eyes that shone brightly, came in with a tray. She had passed middle age and must have been a beautiful woman in her youth. Our eyes met. I blushed, embarrassed because I was wearing only a pair of panties and a singlet. I took me behind the chair, on which usually sat Sherlock, so that the woman couldn’t see the bottom part of my body: "Good morning. My name is John Watson," I mumbled.

"Oh, hello, dear. I'm Martha Hudson. I live in the apartment downstairs. I deal with food preparation, keeping stocked pantry, washing and ironing. I'm glad to meet you, finally. I hope you like my cooking."

"It's very good. I would like to thank you for always brought meals for me."

"You don’t, dear. It is my duty to provide for your sustenance. You are the main source of food for our Master."

At these words, I noticed the blue collar, it could see the woman's neck. I felt the anger growing inside of me, the thought that Sherlock is drinking blood by the old lady and raped her.

"I don’t drink nor do I have sex with Ms. Hudson. - the vampire interjected, still guessing my thoughts – We don’t use all humans as food or as sex dolls, especially after a certain age. We keep these humans to do small errands, while we have fun with others. Or would you rather we had killed the elderly, since they don’t serve as a food supply?"

I had to forge stronger the book in my hand, because the temptation to throw it to Sherlock was increasing with every word that the vampire uttered. Mrs. Hudson had put the tray with the tea on the kitchen table and had paid it a bit in a cup.

"I'll get another cup for you, dear," she offered, but was blocked by Sherlock, "John didn’t have time to take the tea, Mrs. Hudson. He need to fix the library or receive fifty strokes of the riding crop instead of thirty, he has accumulated during the day, with his unruly behavior."

Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on the microscope, as he spoke. My hands gripped the book with more and more strength, finding it hard not to give in to the desire to get him on the head of the monster. After all, what could he do to me? Give me fifty lashes instead of thirty? Rape me? Lock me in my prison, with no clothes? Tie me up and gag me, for hours or days, to show me what he wanted? I had already gone through these experiences and I survived. I could stand it this time, too, if I could take my own satisfaction to make him at least a bit wrong.

"Don’t test my fancy, pet. You can’t even imagine what it can pass on my mind," Sherlock continued, with an amused smile in his voice.

I decided that my little revenge wasn’t worth the pain that I felt. I turned my back and began to tidy up the library, imagining what _I_ could do myself to the monster, if the parties had been reversed.

 

 

Since I started doing these small chores at home, my life had become less monotonous. The days passed quickly. Even on days when I remained locked in my prison, while Sherlock had engaged in some cases, I had a wide range of books from which to select the ones to read and I was bored a lot less than before. Sherlock also occasionally fed or neck or wrist, without pretending to have sex, to complete the meal.

I was happy with this small change. Sherlock was never especially violent and sexual relationships. I can say, truthfully, that most of the time he prepared me kindly and gently, so as not to hurt me, when he penetrated me. His attention, however, doesn’t not change the fact that he was raping me. I didn’t want have sex with him. I didn’t choose to have sex with him. I don’t deny that Sherlock has always brought me to orgasm, before sinking his fangs into my neck, but this didn’t change the reality of things. A rape is a rape, even if done with kindness and making you feel pleasure.

 

 

The daily interaction with Sherlock was full of obstacles, especially in the beginning of our relationship, but also allowed me to understand a few things about him.

One of the hardest things was to learn how to speak to him. When I was a prisoner in my room, I had few occasion to talk to Sherlock. He came in, did what he wanted and left. We talked very little. The few times it was simple to remember to add a Master or Sir. Also, I didn’t need to attract his attention or to call him, because he was totally focused on me. Too much, to be honest. Things, however, had changed and I addressed to him, always calling him Master and Sir, never by name, especially after what had happened the only time in which I had missed saying, unwisely, "Sherlock". Without that I realized how it happened, I found myself naked, kneeling and lying on the coffee table between the lounge chairs, with my hands tied behind my back, the red ball in my mouth and a vibrator in the ass, which quickly became red and sore because of the blows that were inflicted by the infamous riding crop, before Sherlock sank his fangs into my neck, to feed. I didn’t commit the mistake of calling him by his name, although many of these words Master and Sir had spoken more to save me from avoidable punishment rather because they truly believed to belong to the vampire.

 

 

Instead, one of the features that most fascinate me of my Master, is his mind palace. When is reflecting, Sherlock closes to the outside world completely. He sits in his chair or lies down on the couch, he puts his hands, joint almost as if he were praying, under the chin and aliens from the real world. The only important thing isn’t to disturb him while he thinks. I learned also this lesson in the hard way, because, the first time I ever saw him in this state, ended up with a punishment that I will never forget.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, while I was transcribing on the computer some notes, which he had taken out one of his experiments, but I couldn’t decipher a word. I got up from the chair and I went to him: "Master, I need you read a term," I tried to attract his attention, stopping next to the chair, waiting for an answer.

I waited for a few minutes that Sherlock grant me his attention, but didn’t get anything. I cleared my throat and tried again: "Master, I can’t read what you have written, could you help me?"

They spent a few more minutes, but the vampire didn’t react. So I made a huge mistake. It seemed that Sherlock was sleeping, but he told me he was in urgent need of the transcript of the notes, so I thought to have a convincing excuse to wake him. I put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. I had never done it. Sherlock opened his eyes and grabbed my wrist with force, almost to the point of breaking it. In a panic, I tried to wriggle, but the grip was firm and I couldn’t escape it.

"Now you'll learn that you don’t disturb me while I think, pet," growled Sherlock, in low and furious tone, pulling me up to my prison.

I never understood why the punishments always had a sexual component. Perhaps, this feature depended from the experiment on the taste of blood, that Sherlock continued to perform, but of which he has ever made me read what he felt and how to judge each session. Because he wanted to test what I taste when I felt pain, perhaps he had decided to keep this part of the trial for the moments when he thought it right chasten me. Like all other punishments, even that saw me naked, bound hand and foot of the bed with my knees under my chest, face down, with my cock locked in a steel cage, the usual ball in my mouth and the vibrator in my ass, which was lit at intervals and with irregular speed. I don’t know how long was this torture. It seemed like days. Perhaps it was only hours. I remained in a state of denied orgasm, that made me feel almost more pain than one session with the riding crop. Every now Sherlock appeared and sucked a little blood. I think I have tried to beg him to let me come for hours, emitting moans and groans, muffled by the ball. O I dreamed only. I just know that it took days before I completely be well, from that punishment.

After that day, I didn’t make the mistake of forcing Sherlock to leave his mind palace.

 

 

The real breakthrough, however, came on a cold morning. I remember thinking that we were in winter. I don’t approached the windows. I didn’t understand why Sherlock didn’t want that I appeared, if only to see the color of the sky. I never asked, because even just asking the wrong thing could cause a punishment and I risked provoking his anger only if I felt like it was worth it. Fortunately the house was always warm and I didn’t risk getting sick because panties and singlet weren’t the appropriate clothes to face the English winter. Sherlock sat in his usual chair, closed in his own mind palace, while I was copying out notes of one of his experiment. In the fireplace it crackled a cheery fire that warmed me and made me a good mood.

"John, come here."

I froze in the middle of a word, amazed. I wasn’t sure I heard right. According to my ears, Sherlock had called me by name. No pet. No Human. John. He had called me  John. I could count on the fingers of one hand the times in which Sherlock had pronounced my name.

"John, you know I don’t like to repeat myself," the voice had assumed a veiled menace.

I got up and I joined him, wondering what I was going to meet.

"Sit down."

I obeyed, more and more surprised and puzzled, sat down in the chair opposite his.

"I'm a consulting detective, the only one existing in the world," Sherlock began.

"What does it mean, Master?" I was really curious. It was the second time I heard the words "consulting detective" and I couldn’t imagine what they could mean.

"I help investigators from Scotland Yard in their investigations. When they are groping in the dark, that is almost always, they ask me to help them. And I do. Solve their cases. I deliver criminals to justice."

"Humans or vampires?"

"Both. We vampires aren’t so different from you. We have your own feelings, emotions and ambitions. We love, we hate, we yearn for the power, we want money, we seek revenge, just like you. We vampires have laws. Even among us there are vampires those don’t respect them and should be punished."

"So, you're not perfect," it escaped me, ironically.

"Nobody's perfect. I am now on a case, so I need your help, as a physician and human being."

I opened my mouth and eyes in surprise. He was asking me to help him! It was incredible. Sherlock’s blue eyes pierced me, coming straight to my soul.

"Go upstairs. Mrs. Hudson has prepared you for the clothes to be put out. You have ten minutes to prepare. Don’t make me wait. Do you know I’m not very patient."

I jumped up and almost courses to get to the door. I wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to leave the house for anything in the world, at the cost of swallow my pride. I froze at the door, clutching the handle. I don’t know why I felt the need to ask that question, right at that moment, but I turned around: "What day is today?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, put his hands under his chin, joint, like when he reflected. I thought he hadn’t heard me, which was again gone in his own mind palace. I was going to get out of the living room, giving up to have an answer, when his voice, calm and low, reached me: "Today is January 26, 2008."

I gasped. It couldn’t be. I must have misheard. The last date that I remembered, it was the day before the attack to our small village. It was March 5, 2002. If Sherlock had told me the right date, I was in his hands for nearly six years. My little Rosie had become a teenager. If I cross her in the street, I would probably not even recognized her. And Mary? She thought I was dead? She fell in love with and married another? She had had more children? How could I blame her? How long time have I lost? Time that I would never recovered. Six years.

"You're making me waste time," Sherlock growled.

I opened the door and ran up the stairs. I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks. I cried for the lost time. I cried because Rosie and Mary certainly thought I was dead and they had rebuilt a life. Of which I was no part and I never shared with them. Even if I managed to escape the monster, I wouldn’t have the right to look for them. I couldn’t ruin the life they were living, without me. I cried because I felt dead. I cried that day because Dr. John Hamish Watson was dead.


	2. A new world

I went into my prison with my vision blurred by tears. A part of the bed was occupied by some clothes, which I looked almost without seeing them. A pair of jeans, a blue sweater round neck, a blue shirt, socks and shoes, a brown vest. Surely, they were all in my size. I should exult, because I was going to meet new people, to see the sky and feel the air touching my face. Instead, a weight oppressed my chest at heart level. Six years. I lost six years of my life. Spent in a dark room, to satisfy a being who didn’t care about me. My first temptation was to let me go down, let me be overwhelmed by a sense of defeat, that was growing in my heart. I felt as if nothing could stop the overwhelming advance of the Vampires, as if they were invincible, and my struggle to regain freedom, was a waste of time and energy. Once again, though, I decided not to give up. Maybe I couldn’t do anything to be reunited with Mary and Rosie, because it wasn’t fair to upset their lives, dragging them into the abyss in which I was living. I could, however, find out what had happened in the world, while I lived in my prison. And maybe, just maybe, I could do something to free me from the grip of the vampire, who had sucked me away not only blood, but also life.

**A new world**

 

I didn’t know how long I had lost, mulling over my sad condition as prisoner and slave. I took a quick shower, got dressed and went down in the living room. I had no time to enjoy the feeling of having the clothes, some real clothes, on the skin. I had to get in a hurry, if I wanted to avoid being left behind. If that the vampire hadn’t already gone. Sherlock was still sitting in his chair, in the same position as he was when I had left. The vampire's pale blue eyes were fixed on the door and stabbed me when I arrived on the door. I thought that he would have scolded me, if not punished. Instead, nothing. Sherlock stood up, with that feline grace that characterized his movements, and took his overcoat, hanging behind the front door. The long black coat gave the vampire a more regal than usual. If vampires were still characters from movies, Sherlock could play the role of the glamorous and superbly gloomy Earl Dracula, winning the hearts of millions of women, which would fall at his feet and he would be left biting off more than willingly. Unfortunately, the reality was different. The vampires were real and Sherlock had chosen to bite my neck, even if I don’t I burned with the desire to be conquered by him.

"Before we go out there are a few things we need to talk. - Sherlock turned to me, with the collar and the leash tight in a hand - I’m very patient, John, but other vampires aren’t. You'll have to wear a collar and a leash, walk beside me or just behind me. I might have to put you on your knees. It will depend on who are the vampires present at the crime scene. Don’t look up at them, don’t talk to them, if you haven’t been questioned before and, above all, keep an eye on your bad temper. Don’t respond with sarcasm or bringing to light your anger and your contempt for our race. I can get over it, but others wouldn’t do, with my indulgence. Don’t make me punish you in front of everyone, John. Wouldn’t you like it. We understood each other?"

I didn’t know whether to be angry or more scared for Sherlock threats. I couldn’t bear the idea of being treated like a slave, but this was. For six years. I had to do with reason. I wouldn’t have done anything that would give satisfaction, other vampires, to have fun with me. Unless there was something that was worth being stripped, beaten, raped and bite.

"Don’t do anything stupid, pet, and this could be the first of many releases."

"All right, Master," I said, staring straight at Sherlock.

The vampire said anything. He puts the collar and leash on me, firmly gripped in his right hand. For the first time in six years, I went down the steps to the ground floor. Towards the road. Towards the outside world. Eager only to see if other human beings were truly treated like animals or if I was unlucky end up in the hands of the wicked vampire on the face of the Earth.

 

 

When Sherlock opened the front door and went down the few steps that led up to the sidewalk, a beautiful sunny day wrapped us, cold but bright. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun's rays on my face. I couldn’t believe that six years had passed since the last time I had feel them on my face.

Sherlock gave him a light tug with the leash: "There is our taxi."

I opened my eyes, reluctantly. I would rather go for a walk, despite the leash, rather than shut me in a car, but I was resigned to the fact that for some time I didn’t have any right to express my opinion. In front of us stood a black cab. I smiled. Taxis in London hadn’t changed.

Sherlock opened the door: "Get in. You have to put you on your knees, next to another window."

I looked into his eyes, stunned. I had no intention to make the trip at the foot of the vampire. Sherlock walked over to me and whispered in my ear: "I thought I was clear. Don’t make me regret having you allowed to come with me. The consequences wouldn’t like you. If you think that my punishments have been cruel, until now, you have no idea what I might do if you were doing a scene in public."

I clenched my fists and lips, going up, without a word, my face red with anger and humiliation. I knelt, where Sherlock had indicated. Fortunately, there was a pillow, which made it more comfortable being forced to stay in that degrading position. Maybe not all vampires were devoid of heart and someone had decided not to spoil the knees of human slaves.

"John, I'm not threatening because I'm having fun. I want you to understand that, in the society of Vampires, the condition of humans is such, that if you don’t respect our rules in public, I would be forced to punish you, mortifying yourself even more, than you are already."

"I'll never understand why you need to treat us like animals," I hissed angrily, without looking up.

"I've already explained it. We need you to realize that you are no longer the dominant race on the planet. This is the only way we have to break up your endurance. Also, I don’t know what you complain. It is as if you shouldn’t remember that you have dealt with people of your own race even worse than we treat you. Or have you forgotten slavery, in which you have reduced other human beings, with the excuse of a different skin colour or because they had problem to settle with justice?"

"Just because a part of us behaved in an idiot way, doesn’t justify the fact that you have enslaved an entire race!" I blurted out, staring Sherlock directly into the eyes.

"Oh, sure. If we had told you who we were and that we wanted to take power on the planet, replacing us to you, would you let us, putting aside and without resistance, is it?" The vampire retorted, his voice rising.

"We would have been able to negotiate a treaty, so that we could live together."

"Don’t make me laugh, John! You are neither so naive nor stupid. You know very well that you would have fought and exterminated us, even before we could sit around a table. We'd feared, because we feed from you, and we both know that you destroy anything that you don’t understand, and that makes you afraid."

"You have lived with us for centuries, why you have felt this urge to enslave us?" We were practically screaming. A furious lightning flashed in Sherlock’s eyes: “Don’t you really understand that? Or, simply don’t you see the stupidity of your race?"

"We're not stupid," I hissed, just as furious.

"Really? We had to step in and take off the power because you were ravaging the planet!  You are so stupid that you have contaminated air, water and soil. You have caused the extinction of several animal species, giving them a merciless hunting and destroying their habitat. You have destabilized the environmental balance of a good part of the planet. You defiled your bodies, so as to cause diseases, which aren’t even able to cure. Through your sick blood, it was causing health problems also to us. If we'd let you do even for a while, not a single living being would survive on the entire planet. Whatever kind to belong! You haven’t left us any option but to take power, if we wanted to go on living. Do you think we were pleased to come out? We were more secure and protected, hidden in the shadows of society. So we made vulnerable to your attacks, but we had no other choice."

"There is always another choice. You weren’t obliged to divide us in herds, to bind us and rape us. We have lived together for centuries. You can’t hate us so much."

"Of course we don’t hate you so much, but this is the only way we can keep you healthy. If we maintain total control over you, we are sure that we will survive."

I was furious. Part of me understood the speech that Sherlock was doing and couldn’t give him completely wrong. The other part of me, however, didn’t accept that this was the only possible solution, and that Sherlock could have the last word: "You believe so superior to us. You think you're smarter than we are. You are convinced that you have taken the right decision, for the sake of our planet, including us, but it isn’t true. You are no different from us. It doesn’t prove to be the best depriving of liberty, raping and torturing an entire race. By doing so, you only have shown that the power is in the hands of the strongest and the most cruel. And you will reap what you have sown."

We were staring into our eyes, each of the two mad at each other, because he didn’t understand his reasons. Before Sherlock could reply, we heard someone clearing his throat. We turned to the taxi driver, who couldn’t hide an amused smile: "Excuse me, gentlemen, I didn’t want to interrupt you, but we arrived at our destination."

Sherlock looked out the window, reached out a couple of bills to the taxi driver and got out and pulled me harder than necessary: "Remember what I told you before we leave home. Eyes low and be quiet, if you can. Don’t worsen your situation," he growled, so that I could hear him just me.

With those words, Sherlock informed me that it was coming a punishment, and that the amount would be proportioned to my behaviour. I erased the threat from my mind and decided to concentrate on the immediate present rather than the future.

 

 

I did what Sherlock had ordered. I kept my head down, but with the eyes looking for a way to be able to see what was happening around me. I saw a group of police cars, arranged in a semicircle in front of a huge gate, which gave access to a well-kept garden. Sherlock pointed decisively towards the cordon that surrounded the police intervention. On this side of the cordon there had stopped many curious. I dared to raise my head a moment, peered into the crowd. There were both vampire and human, which I could easily distinguish because the latter had the visible coloured collars. I also noticed that some humans weren’t accompanied by their owner. Suddenly, I remembered Mrs. Hudson. She had a collar, like the one I had, but Sherlock didn’t accompany her some grocery shopping. That meant she was free to leave the house without the supervision of our Master. Quite free, at least. Probably, Sherlock told her how long she could stay out. And this rule applied not only to her but also for other humans, who could enjoy a certain freedom.

"Only humans, who don’t feed their master, can leave the house unaccompanied. Take off from your head the idea of going around without any control," Sherlock informed me, dryly.

By now, no longer even I asked me if he read my mind. I pressed my lips together, not to answer him. I knew that, back home, I would have been punished in any case, because of the discussion that we had had in a taxi, but I tried to limit the damage. Above all, I was hoping that this was the first of many releases. If I hadn’t provoked Sherlock more than it should, perhaps he would ask me to help him in other cases. Going out more often, I'd get more news on what was happening in the outside world at 221B Baker Street. And, maybe, just maybe, I could get in touch with someone of the resistance. I was hoping they would help me to escape, to find news of Mary and Rosie. Or, at worst, they would have left me where I was, with the task of finding news and pass them. Sherlock was still the brother of the man who ruled England. Or rather, Albion, as the Vampire called our country. It would have been nice to be able to do my part in the liberation of Humanity from the yoke of the vampires.

We passed the cord that marked the crime scene and we walked along the avenue leading to the villa. No one tried to stop us. I couldn’t see the faces of those we passed, but it seemed that the presence of Sherlock was absolutely normal. I raised my eyes from the ground to study the residence, towards which we were going. It was a beautiful villa, with two mezzanines, light red. The main facade, was divided by three rows of columns, with capitals which recalled the various characteristic styles of architecture of ancient Greece. At the door, there were other police cars and the van from the coroner. It had to be someone very important died, at least judging from the police line. I remembered the experiments that Sherlock made in the house. Many of them could help establish the cause or the time elapsed since the death of any living being. Evidently, his work as investigative consultant was very important to him and he did it in the best way.

"There isn’t thing more interesting than finding out who has committed a crime. Especially if the offender proves to be an intelligent person and not a silly amateur. Unfortunately, the truly ingenious culprits are few. If they had to do only with the police, many will come out free, but with me it's different. I observe, I evaluate the points that others don’t see. And I always find the person in charge of the offenses, which I’m called to investigate."

"Modesty is the main feature of your race," I sneered under my breath, humorous and unsure if I wanted to be heard or not.

Sherlock, of course, heard very well: "It isn’t bragging, but a simple statement of the facts. If I weren’t really good, in what I do, Scotland Yard wouldn’t ask for my help. "

I should look up to the sky, though, in the meantime, we hadn’t entered the villa. A uniformed officer approached Sherlock. He was visibly uncomfortable, but what surprised me the most was that he had a collar.

"The corpse is in the master bedroom. First floor. To the right," the man muttered.

Sherlock didn’t answer him. He slipped on the staircase that occupied the middle of inlet and went without too much haste.

"He is a slave!" I exclaimed incredulously.

"Of course he is a slave. - Sherlock snorted, irritated because I was stating the obvious - We vampires aren’t as many as to carry out all the works that serve to carry out a civilized and complex society like ours. Many humans have preserved jobs, which performed, before our taking of power, even if they have a master who must account for their actions."

"How?" I didn’t know if I was more surprised or angry. I spent six years locked in a house, while other humans had continued to live their lives almost as before.

"The collars are equipped with GPS. If the slave exit the area in which he is allowed to move, an alarm rings and a small needle, comes out of its holder at the back of the collar and releases a dose of sedative, enough to allow his Master to recover him and punish him, as more he shall seem right."

"Why didn’t you allow me to leave the house for six years? I could go on to be a doctor, in a hospital or clinic, close to Baker Street, instead of wasting my time doing nothing!"

"I wonder if you really don’t understand or if you like me to repeat things, knowing what bothers me do it. You are my nourishment. No vampire lets go around the human being from which he feeds."

"What? Are you jealous of your jelly? “I hissed, with sarcasm and anger.

We had arrived at the top of the stairs and we had turned right, heading for a room from which came and went uniformed police and others covered by suits, such as those who wore the employees of scientific in cop shows. Sherlock stopped abruptly and I went crashing into: "Perhaps you're not aware that between vampire and donor establishes a rather intimate relationship. The sexual factor is very important, in the act of eating. So yes. We could say that every vampire is jealous of his own baby food, because the food isn’t thing more than his lover. The only one who has the right to drink the blood of any donor, belonging to a member of the family, is the Knight, who sits on the Board. Fortunately, Mycroft doesn’t like the conflict in the family and rarely uses this privilege. Now, can you shut up, avoiding to continue to annoyed me, or you like so much to be punished, that you can’t wait to go home, to be stripped, flogged and held in a state of denied orgasm, up to beg me to make you come?"

I swallowed vacuum. I had to stop pulling the rope so much, but I couldn’t stop myself from retort to what Sherlock said. Above all, it gave me really annoyed that Sherlock would define "donor" humans who were forced to feed a vampire. Donor gave the impression that the human was willing and had any choice. I could testify that there wasn’t consensual, in our relationship. Not to mention the use of the word "lover", this even entailed an emotional involvement of both parties, in our report. What I couldn’t possibly admit. To quarrel on the questionable choice of terms, by Sherlock, it couldn’t lead to anything good, for me. Give in, however, he caused me a lot of anger. We stared into his eyes for a few more seconds, while I pondered whether to resume our discussion or let it go, when an impatient and irritated voice, which seemed strangely familiar to me, made the decision in my place: "Sherlock! How long does it take to arrive?"

I broke eye contact with Sherlock and looked toward the source of the voice, meeting with brown eyes of Gregory Lestrade. The image of the poor woman still haunted me, in my nightmares. I clenched my fists and looked down, to not to let my anger.

"You always said that eating while investigating, slows your intellectual abilities. Why did you bring with you your pet?"

"It might help me."

"Help? Y _ou?_  A human? Are you making a fool of me? It isn’t the right time for one of your jokes!"

Sherlock snorted, but didn’t reply. He walked with a firm step toward the front of the room where it was Lestrade. I trotted behind him, almost trying to make myself invisible. I could handle a vampire, but two were becoming too many.

 

 

In the room there were other foot. Some were women, other men.

"Good morning, Sherlock, well arrived. You've taken convenient, eh?" It waved a female voice, full of poison.

"I should imagine that you were in charge of this investigation, Donovan. Only this explains why there are already three dead and no suspects."

"Sally, please, there is no need to quarrel. Behave as adults, for once, not as children."

This voice was female too. A voice that I knew very well. It couldn’t be. I must have heard wrong. Without thinking about Sherlock warnings, I raised my head sharply to look at the woman's face, which had spoken. The blood froze in my veins when I recognized her: "Sarah ..." I whispered, incredulous.

"How dare you talk to when you aren’t questioned, you beast!" Exclaimed, furious, a young black woman with a messy mass of curly and black hairs. An electrified stick hit me before I could do something to avoid it. With a scream, I collapsed on my knees and I couldn’t see what happened next, but I heard it. Sherlock struck in open hand on the woman's face: "Don’t you dare touch something that is  **mine,**  Donovan. Only  _I_  can punish my pet. Touch him again and I deadlift your arm," Sherlock growled, in low and guttural tone. I had never heard so angry.

Cold hands touched me, trying to figure out if I was hurt, "John, can you hear me? Try a lot of pain?"

I shook my head to clear it.  I looked at the familiar face of Sarah Sawyer,  who was staring at me worried. It was then that I noticed that she didn’t have the collar: "You ... you're a vampire?"

"Yes, John, I'm a vampire. I regret that Sally has hit you. The teaser is set at low voltage, it shouldn’t have procured you damage, but only pain."

"I would have done even less than that," I mumbled, trying to get up.

Sarah smiled, helping me to my feet: "I can imagine. How are you? How are Mary and Rosie?"

"We aren’t here to make conversation,” Sherlock said, irritably.

"I was sure I have understood that you hadn’t a herd, Sherlock," said Sarah.

"In fact, I haven’t a herd, but I eat too. You're touching my donor." The Sherlock's voice was icy.

Sarah immediately took her hands from my arms: "I apologize. I didn’t mean to be inappropriate. I was just making sure that John was all right."

"How did Alastair Parker die?" Sherlock changed the subject, letting go of the leash and walking toward the bed, on which I saw the body of a man.

"Poisoned, as the other two. What I don’t understand is what kind of poison was administered and how. In the bodies of the two vampires, previously murdered, there are neither signs of injections or poison in the stomach. It is as if they had absorbed in the long term, but none of them said to be sick," Sarah said.

I didn’t dare look longer at the bed, because a time of teaser was enough, but I couldn’t help but turn my head when I heard a moan coming from my right. Thrown to the ground, like a sack of rags, there was a young brunette woman, naked and suffering.

"Why is she there on earth? Don’t you see she's sick?" I asked, angry.

"That woman was the donor of Alastair and may be the only to have him poisoned. She must be brought to Central and interrogated," Sarah replied.

"You might be a vampire, but you're still a doctor! Haven’t you noticed that the girl is sick?"

Without thinking I rushed to the girl. I bent over her, taking off my jacket and placing it on her body: "My name is John Watson. I’m a doctor. What's your name?"

"Janine."

"Janine. It's a beautiful name. What do you feel?"

"Cold. It hurts everywhere. I can’t breathe. I have a weight that oppresses my chest."

I put my hands on the body, making sure to discover it as little as possible: "We will take you to the hospital. We'll let the examinations. You'll be fine, Janine."

"I don’t deserve it. Let me die, "she whispered.

"What are you saying? No one deserves to die."

"I do. It's my fault if Al is dead. I shouldn’t believe him."

"To believe in whom? At what?"

"I loved Al and I wanted to spend my whole life with him. Al, though, was a vampire, I'd soon faded and he would stay beautiful and charming, as if no time had elapsed. He would get tired of me and he left me. A man told me that drinking his potion I'd turned into a vampire, and that I could stay with Al for eternity."

Janine’s voice was fading. I couldn’t do anything for her. She showed symptoms of severe poisoning. If, instead of throwing her in the corner, they had taken her in an emergency room, we could have saved her. Now it was late. The poison had compromised the functionality of too many vital organs. Janine would die soon. And I couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly at her death. I stroked her head, trying to comfort her: "You aren’t responsible for what happened. You've been deceived. Who is the man who gave you the poison? We have to stop him, from killing again."

The answer came out as a low murmur from the lips of the girl, along with her last breath. It was so weak, that only I could hear the name pronounced: "James ... James Moriarty."

 

 

Janine died, pronouncing the name of his murderess. I closed her eyes and sat back on my heels.

"Sarah, do you know John for a long time?" Sherlock asked.

"We worked together in Bart's, first of the New Age."

"He was a good doctor?"

"One of the best I have ever known," Sarah said, surely and categorical, without specifying that I was a human being. Maybe there really was a bit of humanity, in the hearts of vampires. At least in those of some of them.

"Good. Then I want you to also bear the body of the girl at Bart's, together with that of Alastair."

"And why, pray? That beast killed Lord Parker. We’ve also heard her. She confessed. Unfortunately she had a quick and easy death, and would have deserved to suffer the punishments of hell," Donovan snapped.

"Why would she kill Alastair and poison herself, instead of running away?"

"She’s just a human beast! We all know how the humans are stupid," Donovan said.

"There are also vampires who are very stupid and some of the best representatives of this category are found in this room, making it appear even intelligent humans," Sherlock smirked.

"We will do what you asked. - Sarah interjected, before the discussion from degenerating - John is more than qualified to perform an autopsy on the girl. I will prepare the autopsy room that is in the basement, so he can work calmly. See you at Bart's "

"I will be present too. Make preparing microscopes. We'll need them."

I was incredulous and happy, even though I felt guilty to be. It wasn’t fair that I should be happy, because I was to perform an autopsy on a poor girl in love, which had become fooled by someone who had used her own feelings against her. Yet I was happy, because I would have set foot in a hospital. I would work again, after so long. I never realized how much I missed the smell of disinfectant, typical of hospitals.

Sherlock grabbed my arm and helped me to my feet: "Smile, John, today is Christmas! We are dealing with a clever murderess, and you will help me to expose him. Isn’t it fantastic?"

Sherlock was smiling, cheerful and happy, like a child who had received such a long-awaited gift.

I shouldn’t have, but I answered to his smile. It was about to start a great adventure, which would upset my life, making me become the man I’m today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's corner
> 
> As promised and written many times, things between Sherlock and John are changing. They will change again. Meanwhile, new players have entered the game. James Moriarty is always the best, in the case of intrigue and poisons.  
> Thanks to those who have read this far and left kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions and comment.   
> I apologize if I don’t respond immediately to your wonderful comment, but in real life, and life as a "writer" I would need days to 48 hours. And maybe I wouldn’t have enough.  
> Anyway, please leave all the reviews that you want. Sooner or later I will answer to all! Promised !!!  
> For those who want to know what is combining the good James, the event is scheduled for next Monday.  
> Ciao!


	3. A strange alliance

The ride proceeded quietly. Sherlock seemed deep in thought, although, occasionally, he read and sent messages by mobile phone. I was excited because I set foot in a hospital. Find out that Sarah, a colleague, a person who I considered a dear friend and I liked, was a vampire, it was shocking. I tried to remember if I hadn’t noticed something strange about her, but the answer was only one: I had never realized that she wasn’t human. We also went out together, sometimes, before I met Mary. I could fall in love with Sarah. A shiver ran down my spine. How many were the vampires who had crossed my path, without I noted? What would have happened if I had fallen in love with Sarah and I asked her to marry me?

"The autopsy room, which Sarah did prepare for you, is in the basement, so we can work without anyone annoys us ," Sherlock interrupted the flow of my thoughts.

"Will you help me to perform the autopsy?" I didn’t know if my Master had the knowledge to examine a corpse, but, having seen him work with his experiments, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wanted to make himself the autopsy. Also, I didn’t know if he trusts my abilities. After all, for him I was just a human being. Little more than an animal. Maybe.

"No. You will make the autopsy. I have absolute confidence in your medical capacity. Even before I asked an opinion to Sarah, I knew you were good at, in your work."

My eyes widened in surprise. There had to be a strange sound, in that taxi, because my ears believed they had heard Sherlock Holmes do to me a compliment.

"Why are you so surprised? Do you really think I would put in your hand the results of my experiments, if I hadn’t thought that you were a competent doctor?" Sherlock snorted, almost offended.

Laughs escaped form me. I wasn’t really able to hold it back.

"I don’t understand what's so funny about what I said."

"I just thought what would you do to someone you despise, if you treat so the people for whom you feel confident."

Sherlock grinned: "If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to find it out, but you can always change my mind, if you're really that curious. Who knows? You may find that you can like some of the things I have in mind," he whispered, sensual.

"No thanks. I'm not so curious," I laughed.

Sherlock joined me in my laughter: "Whatever. If you change your mind, I'm here. I will always be there for you."

Those words would have sounded like a threat, instead they made me blush. I felt something warm up my chest, infusing a pleasant sensation throughout my body, but I tried to push it away. If I were asked what it was due, the answer would have been unpleasant. I didn’t think about it. I had to concentrate on the work that awaited me. I wasn’t so interested in trap those who had killed the vampire. I wanted to do justice to Janine, a poor girl, used, deceived, deluded and poisoned.

**A strange alliance**

 

Arrived at Bart's, we got out of the taxi. Sherlock stopped on the sidewalk, took out his cell phone and wrote another message. I took the opportunity to look around, to see how had changed Bart's, the hospital where I had studied and worked before that my life was turned upside down by a vampire with raven hair and eyes of ice.

The sun was high in the sky and pleasantly warmed the winter day. It had to be lunch time, because the bars and restaurants were full of people, who ate and chatted. It all seemed so normal. In what I saw, there wasn’t thing to understand that humanity had been subjugated and enslaved. There were people with collar, laughing merrily. I saw a vampire passionately kiss a human, who reciprocated with equal ardour. It was really possible for a human to love a vampire? He wasn’t just pandering to avoid the violence of the monster? Janine was in love of their Master. Sarah was polite and friendly with me, as always. Sally Donovan, however, had been hard and cruel. Which of them was the rule and who the exception? Sherlock himself had an ambiguous attitude. He took what he wanted, without asking permission, and he was inhumane in his punishments, but he could be sweet and delicate. This was enough to get him through on the good vampires? To trust him? A chill went through my spine. It wasn’t the cold. I couldn’t believe I was seriously considering trusting Sherlock Holmes, after what he'd done to me.

"Don’t stand there dazed, John. We have a job to do."

The voice was dry, but Sherlock still looked excited and interrupted the flow of my thoughts again. Without saying anything, I followed him. We went to Bart's on the side of the emergency room. That place was familiar to me. I had worked there for years. Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable. I realized that there might be doctors, nurses, clerks I had known, before leaving London. What would they think, seeing me enter, held on a leash by a vampire? They quickly realized that we had sexual intercourse? They would believe that they weren’t consensual? Or would they think that I liked to go around, treated like an animal? They would feel pity or contempt, for me? In their place, what would I have thought of a person in my condition? I had no answers. The happiness I had felt until a few moments before, because I was going to set foot in a hospital, vanished, replaced by an unpleasant feeling of shame. I felt dirty. I kept my head down, trying to hide my face as much as possible, so that I wasn’t recognized.

We entered a lift and went down towards the basement. There was no one with us. Nobody went up during the short path, which led us to the destination. The elevator stopped at the floor, gently. The doors opened and we searched an empty corridor. Completely empty. I dared to raise my head to make sure that there really was none. The floor was deserted. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"You have no reason to be embarrassed, John. Be the donor of a vampire isn’t a shame..."

"If you're going to tell me it's an honour, you avoids telling me, please," I interrupted him, irritated because Sherlock had understood what I felt, but underestimate my feelings.

"I would never say it, because I know that for you it isn’t. I was going to say that you had no choice. Subject yourself to the strongest, it isn’t a shame."

"No. It's just a sign of weakness."

As we talked, we came to the autopsy room. Sherlock pushed the door and entered the room, cold and with dim lights. A large lamp illuminated a steel table, on which lay the naked body of Janine. I clenched my fists, outraged, because they hadn’t even had the grace to cover it with a sheet. I knew that the poor girl was dead and that nothing touched her, but I thought to leave her exposed to the gaze of anyone, who came, was a complete lack of sensitivity. Even the dead have their dignity and the right to be treated with respect.

Sherlock pulled the leash from my collar and pretended not to notice my anger, for the way it was handled Janine’s corpse. Only at that moment I remembered that she hadn’t told me his last name. I wonder if, somewhere, there was someone who was crying and waiting for her.

"There is everything you asked?" Sarah's voice took me by surprise. I hadn’t heard her coming.

"Yes, there is everything. Did you bring something to eat for John, as I asked you?" Sherlock replied.

Sarah came up to me, smiling: "Hamburger medium rare, in sesame bread, with salad and few mayonnaise, chips, small portion no ketchup, water. Right?"

She handed me a bag. I stared at her in surprise: "You remember."

"Of course I remember, John. If Mary hadn’t arrived, I would have asked you to be my partner."

"But this one Mary came and he is  **my**  donor. Will I have to repeat it to you yet, Sarah? You know how much I hate it and I get annoyed having to state the obvious, do you? Especially, considering you're harassing my donor."

I looked back at Sherlock, surprised. The tone was furious; I could almost say that he was jealous. He told me that the relationship between vampire and donor was special, but heard him speak like that, someone might think that Sherlock cared about me. It is absolutely not true. Or was I wrong?

"I'm not here to contend the donor, Sherlock. You asked me to get him something to eat," by Sarah tone, I realized that she wasn’t at all intimidated by the words of Sherlock.

"Thanks, you've been very kind," I intervened to prevent an unnecessary discussion. It would be absurd that two vampires had fought for me when I wouldn’t have wanted to have a relationship with either of them.

"Yes sure. Thank you, Sarah. Now we have a work to do," Sherlock dismissed her, coldly.

"If you need anything, let me know. I'll be upstairs to perform an autopsy on Alastair."

"We will not be a hindrance to your important work," Sherlock said.

With a sigh, I wondered if they would still continue for a long time and who would have the last word. Fortunately, Sarah proved to be the more mature of the two vampires. Granted us a friendly smile and headed for the door:  “We will talk later, to compare the results of the two autopsies."

"See you later," Sherlock greeted her, quickly, so she could hear him, before exiting.

Sarah went out and I turned to Sherlock. He looked really irritated, but said no more.

 

 

Hoping that the backbiting between the two vampires don’t leave unpleasant aftermath between me and Sherlock, I put my bag with food on a desk and looked around in search of gowns for wearing one over my clothes. I found them in a closet, right next to the desk on which I had placed my lunch. From the closet, also I took a protective mask and latex gloves.

"Are not you eating?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm not hungry," I said, more curtly than I wanted.

"Don’t you feel to perform the autopsy? After all, you were not a pathologist, but a surgeon."

"I want to start right away. Before we understand what happened before the murderess of this poor girl pay for deceiving her and killed her."

I walked over to the table, on which was laid Janine’s body, and grabbed a scalpel. I took a deep breath, and then began to affect the body in front of me. I slipped the spreader and studied the internal organs. Even Sherlock had approached and looked forward to the same thing.

"Look at the colour of the organs. It should be clearer, not so dark. It seems that something has changed the texture and colour of blood," I pointed to my Master.

"Take some samples. I want them instantly review. I wouldn’t want the blood had been altered by something that fades with the passage of time."

I nodded, agreeing with the hypothesis of Sherlock. Meticulously, I cut of various tissue samples and rested them on the slides, the vampire was holding. In addition, I took some syringes and took different blood samples, writing, on tubes, which organ originated it.

We worked in silence, but perfectly coordinated, as if we had never done anything else in our life.

"In view of our different skills, I would say that we should look at both the champions, taking notes of the things that seem most important. Once finished, we will compare our findings."

"Let us begin," I agreed.

"You should eat, John. It has spent many hours, since the last time you fed," Sherlock looked really worried.

I gave him a reassuring smile: "I can do it. This is more important. I'll eat something soon."

Sherlock studied me for a long time, almost trying to convince me without saying a word. I gave in and he was forced to resign: "Glad you ..."

 

 

Silence fell in the autopsy room, while each of the two of us proceeded to the analysis of various samples. It seemed that everything was all right, that there were no lethal substances, in Janine’s body. Yet, she was dead. It was analysing a blood sample that I noticed it. It was something attached to red blood cells. It could be mistaken for a protein, but it was something different, I'd never seen.

"Master, try to look at this thing," I drew Sherlock’s attention.

"The blood. There's something in the blood of this girl. Something that, for us vampires, is lethal. It acts slowly, but surely. It does its job in a subtle, but effective. It's almost a parasite, a substance that attaches to red blood cells and inhibits oxygen transport. The physiology of the vampires is very special and the donor's blood oxygenation is important for our survival. From these analyses, it appears that Alastair has been suffocated, while he fed from the girl."

"That depends a malformation of the girl or was caused?"

I whirled around. People continued to enter without my noticing. Possible those vampires were so quiet? Probably, I was just so focused on work, that I hadn’t heard the footsteps of Mycroft Holmes, who had arrived and had been listening to our conversation. I imagined that Sherlock had exchanged messages with his older brother, on the trip from the villa to Bart's.

"Provoked," Sherlock said, with ease.

The door opened again and entered a brunette woman, tall and beautiful. She had no collar, so she had to be a vampire. While remaining faithful to Mary, with the heart, if I could choose which vampire bites me on the neck, I wouldn’t hesitate to give my preference to this newcomer.

"His Majesty, Consul of Hibernia is coming."

Mycroft raised barely an eyebrow, to express their displeasure: "Here?"

"Yes. Along with his younger brother," the girl confirmed, with a sweet voice.

Everything happened within seconds. Sherlock pulled off the waistband of my shirts and tied my wrists behind my back. I tried to protest, but only favoured the inclusion of the infamous red ball, which appeared out of nowhere, in my mouth. Finally, Sherlock forced me to my knees. I was furious. What was it happened? A few minutes before we were studying a strange thing, together, almost on par, then he tied me and muzzled me. It was already so much that he left me my clothes on. I made an attempt to get up to my feet, but Sherlock’s iron grip, on my shoulder, stopping me any movement.

The door opened again and two pairs of black shoes, shiny and looking very expensive, made their entrance into the autopsy room.

"Justin, my dear friend, what are you doing in this place, definitely worthy of your lineage?" Mycroft welcomed them, with colder friendly tone, I'd ever heard in my life.

"I came to offer my deepest condolences, dear Mycroft, the loss of the poor Lord Parker and offer all my support, to stop those human beasts who are killing our best representatives, in cowardly and devious way."

I stiffened, shocked. Possible that the human resistance had found a way to poison the vampires, and had used a poor girl for their own purposes? Of course, an old proverb recited in love and in war everything was permissible, but I couldn’t believe that the human resistance had deceived a girl in love to kill the vampire that fed on her. Or, the free human thought we were expendable, since we were subjected to vampires?

Two other pairs of shoes went into the room. To be the autopsy room of the basement, where we would have to work undisturbed, the room was getting very crowded.

"I thank you for your kind availability, Justin, but I can manage Albion's problems without the help of the Consul of Hibernia. I will keep, however, consider your proposal. Should I need, I will turn to you, without a doubt."

A pair of black shoes came up to me. I kept my head strictly directed to the floor and saw only a flap of a pair of grey trousers, well performed.

"Do you take your pet to work, Sherlock? And he wears his clothes also... do you not stop playing with dolls? Still, you should be old enough to know that you haven’t play with your food," a mocking voice chuckled, with a strong Irish accent.

"You don’t think certain that I condescend to touch the body of a dead animal, don’t you James? Especially when I'm lucky to have a pet who was a doctor and who knows how to perform an autopsy," Sherlock said, sounding just as haughty.

I blushed violently, with anger. If I wasn’t bound and gagged, I explained to the two arrogant vampires what I thought of them, using a very colourful language, regardless of the punishment I received.

"James, as a good boy, stop causing Sherlock. You are no longer two teenagers seeking the approval of adults. - Justin interjected - Dear Mycroft, if you think you don’t need, I go back to my embassy. I stop in London to attend the funeral of the poor Alastair. Although we had different ideas about how to deal with humans, I always felt a great admiration for him."

"See you soon, then, dear Justin."

The door opened and the two pairs of black shoes disappeared from the room.

 

 

Sherlock raised me up and set me free. I glared at him. I was furious.

"Did you find something?"

I turned around and found out whom they belonged to the latest shoes gone into the room. Gregory Lestrade and Sally Donovan were at the foot of the operating table on which it rested Janine’s body. No one answered the question of Lestrade. I turned my head and saw that Mycroft was lowering his arm, which had to have ordered Lestrade to be silent. The nice vampire went to the door, opened it and disappeared for a few minutes. When she returned, she aimed her attention only on Mycroft: "They're gone."

"Now we can talk freely," Mycroft hissed, no more hiding the hassle for that unexpected visit.

"Dear Moriarty brothers are cute, as always," Sherlock smirked.

The blood froze in my veins. I had just met James Moriarty, the Janine murderess.

"So what did you find?" Lestrade repeated, impatiently.

"The human blood has been poisoned with a chemical that inhibits the transport of oxygen by red blood cells. Alastair died literally choked. And the same must have happened to the other two killed vampires," Sherlock informed them.

"So Moriarty was right. Humans found a way to poison us," Donovan snapped.

"I don’t think so. – I intervened, without thinking about the consequences - To create a toxin like the one that attacked Janine’s blood, need knowledge of the physiology of vampires so deep, that human scientists can’t be reached. Not in just under ten years. To get a result like this, of an unknown race, it takes years of study and experimentation. Anyone who has given poison to Janine, knew exactly what result he would get."

The attention of the vampires was focused on me. I certainly couldn’t put myself to accuse the brother of the Consul of Hibernia to be the murderess, based on the words of a dying girl. However, I had to make sure that the investigation would take the right direction. At any cost.

"Don’t you have learned to keep your mouth shut, you do, dumb animal?" Donovan hissed, but didn’t try to hit me. Evidently, she remembered Sherlock’s threat.

"As I got to get you noticed, Sally, there are vampires so idiots, to make it look human real mastermind. You are one of these vampires," Sherlock interjected, sarcastically.

"Sherlock..." Mycroft sighed, taking his nose between two fingers.

"John is right, Mycroft. It can’t be a human plan. They may be stupid, but they aren’t enough to kill those who have openly sided in their favour."

"They may not know it," Lestrade objected.

"Of course they know! Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean that they aren’t among us. In our cities there are millions of humans, turning without being accompanied by the vampires. They have the collar, of course, but what does it take to make one false, so that a free human seem a slave? How do you believe that the human resistance know what we were doing? They have spies among us, while we can’t even find out who they are. No, Lestrade, humans aren’t stupid, like many of you believe. They know that there are vampires who supported warmly for their release and they aren’t killing them. Why don’t you want to see that this is a Justin Moriarty plan to embarrass Mycroft and do depose as Consul of Albion? If this happens, Moriarty would rush like a vulture to claim his place! And, this time, no one would have a valid reason to refuse the crown of Albion."

"We must be careful what we say. - Mycroft warned his younger brother - Right now, my position is very delicate. I can’t afford to accuse Moriarty of plotting behind my back. Without evidence, he would have an easy to twist my own accusations against me. What we just said, it must not leave this room. The investigations also must be conducted in absolute secrecy. If Moriarty should understand that we suspect him, all the evidence would disappear in a very short time and we would have no chance of finding them. I make myself clear? "

Everyone nodded, although Donovan didn’t seem very convinced.

"We update in the coming hours. Sherlock, don’t thing, without telling me," said Lestrade, before going out, followed by a reluctant Donovan.

We were only Sherlock, Mycroft, I and the beautiful vampire.

Mycroft shook his head: "I can’t believe Justin has gone so far as to kill some of us, in order to obtain the title of Consul of Albion."

"He killed vampires who he believes weak because sided in favour of Humanity. – Sherlock remarked - This way, he get two good results: reduces the deployment of vampires in favour of abolition of human slavery and increases his prestige. One can’t but admit it's a brilliant plan."

"Brilliant plan or not, we have to stop him. You have to find conclusive evidence, in pinning Justin Moriarty his responsibilities. And do it fast, Sherlock. I can’t afford to lose any more allies, in my campaign of liberation in favour of Humanity."

I couldn’t believe my ears. A faction of vampires was in favour of the abolition of human slavery. And Mycroft Holmes supported them!

"Always as you command, dear brother," Sherlock smirked.

With an exasperated sigh, Mycroft looked up to the ceiling: "Come on, Anthea, or end up fighting."

Mycroft and beautiful vampire came out.

Sherlock rubbed his hands, satisfied: "Well well well. This case is becoming more and more interesting. This time, I can remove that smile from James’s arrogant lips. Forever! We can’t do our research here. The Moriartys have ears and eyes everywhere. We bring home samples and study them there. We will find something that leads us to the Irish brothers and that engages them with their responsibilities. As I told you at the Parker home, today is Christmas, John!"

I had never seen Sherlock so excited. It was regrettable that it was for a reason so tragic, as a series of murders, but I couldn’t but admire the light that lit up blue eyes like ice. The smiling face was beautiful and had also taken a slight red colour, which gave an even greater fascination.

We collected the samples, placing them carefully in a cooler, taking care that there was no contamination. I closed the cuts, I had done to Janine's corpse, and covered her with a sheet.

We were ready to go home.

 

 

We left the basement by a secondary entrance, so we don’t have to go through the emergency room again. I was grateful to Sherlock for this. It was absurd, I was conscious, but I was more comfortable in a room full of vampires, rather than human. I didn’t want to be judged and condemned by my own kind, although I wasn’t responsible for my situation. A taxi was waiting in front of the exit of Bart's. Evidently, Sherlock had called while I was taking care of Janine's body. I was tired and hungry, but also pleased with the work undertaken and the novelty, we had discovered.

When we got up, Sherlock gave a nod to the driver, who raised a glass partition between the front and back of the car. A music spread in the cockpit. The vampires had to really love classical music, given that, since they had assumed power, I heard only that kind of music. The flowing notes of the Fifth Symphony by Ludwig van Beethoven broke the silence. The symphony "Destiny" overwhelmed me with its violent notes, distressing, insistent, pretentious and delicate at the same time. I wondered if the piece was random or if the same fate trying to tell me something.

"Did you understand why I had to bind and gag you?" Sherlock asked, in a tone so low that, because of the music, I almost hard to hear. If it hadn’t been impossible, I would have believed that he feared to be heard by someone. No one knew what we suspected, so why would anyone spy on our conversations? Were really so dangerous brothers Moriarty?

"Because you vampires like prove to be the ones who rule." I replied sarcastically.

Sherlock sighed, almost resigned: "John... John... you look at it, but don’t observe. You hear, but don’t listen. Don’t you realize how dangerous are Moriarty brothers? Justin is the Knight of the family and the Consul of Hibernia. If you had expressed your opinion, as you usually do, regardless of the consequences, you would definitely insult them and Moriarty would have the right to ask my brother to allow them to punish you. Mycroft couldn’t say no to them, without causing an accident between our two families. If you think I am cruel, you have no idea what it could do those two. For Moriarty, humans should live in stables, don’t work and have a life, almost normal. They have no donors. They have human from which they feed, reducing them almost always dying, at every meal. I have gagged and bound you to protect you from them."

I stared at the car mat, thoughtfully. Sherlock was right. If I could speak, I would have definitely got in trouble, because I would have railed against those two vampires, especially against James, accountable of Janine's death. I didn’t doubt Sherlock’s words. I had no doubt of the fact that those two have demanded to punish me for my insolence. Although I didn’t like to be bound and gagged, I could understand the reason that it had brought Sherlock to do so. With some annoyance, I realized that I had to be grateful to him as well, for having reduced me to impotence in the presence of seven vampires, or I wouldn’t be alive. Not that I liked my life, but now I had a purpose for living. I had to avenge justice for Janine.

"Did she tell you a name, John?"

I looked on my Master, averting my mind from thinking, I was doing. He wasn’t angry. Rather. He was smiling.

"Yes. Janine told me it was James Moriarty to give her a filter, telling her that it turned her into a vampire. That monster took advantage of the fact that Janine was in love with Alastair Parker, to use her as a weapon against her lover. "

"James. I should have known there was his paw. This time, he will pay for what he did."

"Why is there so much hostility between Holmes and Moriarty?" I asked, curious.

"Divergence of views. And convergence of objectives," it was the laconic reply of Sherlock.

I waited, hoping he would add other details, but Sherlock seemed lost in thought. I didn’t ask further explanation. From the speeches I had heard, I could imagine that the two families hadn’t the same ideas about how to treat Humanity, and that both were intended to govern the UK. Albion. Sooner or later I would have remembered that I had to say Albion and not UK.

We didn’t talk for the rest of the trip, but that silence was pleasant. There was no discomfort. It was as if the words were no longer necessary and each of us knew what to expect from the other. Part of me kept shouting that I shouldn’t let fascinate by the vampire, by the monster, but it was too late. I knew, at some unconscious way, but I knew, that my admiration for pale and exciting man, was being transformed into something different. They were born affection and respect. It was monstrous that these feelings were directed toward someone who had held me captive for six years, raping me and beating me. However, as this was true, he was making inroads into my heart. And this rift widened every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's corner
> 
> Even vampires are human and have their factions that fight, no holds barred.  
> Collaborate in this survey is approaching Sherlock and John, but it will be enough?  
> If you want to find it out, the event is scheduled for next Monday.
> 
> This part was to be composed of four chapters, like the previous one, but the narrative of the events took my hand and it will be a bit longer. I hope that doesn’t bother you.
> 
> Thanks to those who have read and for kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks.  
> Who would like to tell me what think of the story, you will always be welcome.
> 
> Ciao!


	4. Intrigues

The days following my first exit from 221B Baker Street were chaotic and intense. Sherlock wanted to find out what substance had been used to poison the blood of donors, so it killed the vampire that fed on human. Identifying the poison, its composition and its origin, he hoped to find some clue that would lead to Moriarty. The research was slow, because we couldn’t use scientific equipment to Scotland Yard or Bart's. The Moriarty brothers had eyes and ears everywhere. We couldn’t make them understand that we had found a track, albeit fleeting. Sherlock was getting impatient and irritable. It seemed as if it were a personal matter, it went very further to keep the title of Consul of Albion to the older brother. Sherlock felt a real grudge, not to say hate, toward James Moriarty. I didn’t try to investigate the reasons of Sherlock feelings, thinking that if he wanted to tell me about it, he would do it in the ways and times that he would have considered more appropriate. It was a long time that Sherlock had no violent reactions towards me, and talked to me of many things, unlike what happened in the early days of my life at Baker Street. The thing that worried me, when you dealt with a case, which he was rarely fed, because he was convinced that digestion slow down his thought processes. And this had as natural consequence a total lack of sexual relationships, between us. Not that I was sorry not to have sex with Sherlock, but I worried, when he fasted for a long time, and I had come to see me in the absurd situation of having to insist, that he drunk by me!

 

 

**Intrigues**

 

Also that day, the one where it all happened, was started with a quarrel over food. Sherlock hadn’t fed for two days. It wasn’t the first time that happened, but I tried to avoid that for a long time he didn’t drink from me. Sherlock was sitting on a swivel stool, focused on the microscope to study a sample of blood of Alastair Parker, which Sarah had given him. We were trying to find the same substance that we had identified in Janine’s blood, but we couldn’t. I stopped to check out my results of the analysis and I tapped gently on a Sherlock’s shoulder.

"What do you want?" He grunted, without taking his eyes from the microscope.

I didn’t answer, but continued to beat on his shoulder with a finger.

"What do you want!" He snapped irritably, turning at last to me.

I reached the wrist, found out from the clothes, which now also wore in the house: "You must feed you. It’s nearly three days that you don’t drink blood. It’s no good, you know it."

"Don’t bother me, John. I'm almost at the solution of the case. I feel that I miss very little to understand where we must seek the substance from which they obtained the poison."

Sherlock went back under the microscope, but, with a quick movement, I slipped between his legs with my back to the table and preventing the view on the microscope. If I had been thinking a bit, before acting, I noticed that this wasn’t a very smart move. Practically, I had been trapped myself.

"What would you do?" Sherlock asked, more surprised than angry.

"Look, Sherlock, you can’t keep putting it off to feed. When you wait too much, between one meal and the other, then you dry me up and I remain exhausted for days. At this time, we can’t afford it. This investigation is important for both. Whether you like to admit it or not, you need my help. We can’t know when it will be the turning point. It could still serve us days, before finding something. You have to feed you. Now. You've already explained your absurd theories on eating it slows down thinking. If you want me to continue to help you, you have to afford it, in any way possible," I finished speaking, shifted my collar, so as to expose the jugular. I stared Sherlock straight into his eyes. I hadn’t realized having called him by name. He kept looking at me, by remaining silent. A strange smile, almost tender, made his way on his lips: "You're always surprising, John. I almost will throw you face down on the table, put down your jeans and pants, undid my pants and I fuck you here, in the kitchen, sinking his fangs into your beautiful neck, while you'll come, screaming my name. What do you say?"

I went pale, but I couldn’t pull back. I had offered myself, well aware of how they were connected sex and food, in the vampire culture: "If you just can’t help it..." I sighed.

Sherlock chuckled: "It would be wonderful, but it would take too long. For now I'll settle for a taste. Solved this case, however, I will fuck you as you deserve, John. It's a promise." He put his lips to my neck and sucked, without biting. A shiver ran through my body and I could barely suppress a groan of pleasure. Sherlock sank his fangs and fed. His arms wrapped around me and I returned the embrace, putting a hand in his rebellious curls. I wish he never went away from me, but he did.

"Satisfied?" He asked, mischievous.

I opened my eyes, making it hard to focus on his face. My breathing was accelerated and jeans clutching my nether regions so painful, "Yes," I found the strength to say.

"Good. We can get back to work now?"

"Yes," I repeated, not moving.

The mischievous smile grew wider: "You should move. Unless you didn’t need anything else..."

"What? No. I'm okay," I said, moving toward my notes. Sherlock looked back into his microscope and suddenly slammed his palms on the table: "What an idiot I am! How did I not recognize it before?"

"Recognize what?"

"Eupatorium rugosum," Sherlock said, with an enthusiastic smile.

"Eu ... what?"

"Your ignorance has no limits, John, but that's okay. Your blood always has the most delicious flavour I've ever tasted," he said thrilled, grabbing my face in his hands and kissing my forehead.

I looked up to the ceiling.

"Don’t be melodramatic, John. I would never have supposed, before this case, but you're showing up as a light to guide me out of the darkness. You almost make me change my mind about my belief that feed slows mental processes."

"I'm happy. Now, could you explain what would you understand?"

"The Eupatorium rugosum is a plant native to the ones that you people were calling the United States and contains a high amount of tremetolo, a highly toxic substance. If ingested by cows, it contaminates the milk, which becomes poisonous, for those who drink it. The poison that was given to the donor is a variant of tremetolo and was obtained in the laboratory. It contaminates the blood donor to poison the vampire. Guess where there was a dangerous case of infestation Eupatorium rugosum, which had spread in some farms, because of an illegal import? Guess who ordered a thorough study on this substance to make it harmless, at least according to what he told the Council of One Hundred to justify his research?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes: "Guess who didn’t allow me to keep me updated on what happens in the world, for  _six years,"_  I hissed through my teeth.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, as if considering the question: "Oh, yeah. I forgot. Five years ago, in Gaul, several humans began to present symptoms of poisoning. Some of them are dead, but they weren’t made serious investigations until a young vampire began to present the same symptoms. Then, the Consul of Gaul, Charles Augustus Magnussen, ordered it to be carried out a thorough study of the causes of the poisoning. It was discovered that one of the pastures, where they fed the cows, from which humans taking milk, was haunted by Eupatorium rugosum, which had been imported illegally and had infested pasture, broadcasting its poison through the cows to humans until get to the young vampire. Magnussen ordered to set fire to the pasture and kill the infected herd, so that the vampires weren’t poisoned."

“What you mean by the herd? The cows or the humans?"

Sherlock hesitated a moment before replying: "Both."

I felt a strong pain in my heart: "How many?" I mumbled with a faint voice.

Sherlock stared at me strangely, as if he were sorry for me, "Does it really matter, John? You couldn’t do anything to save those people. Nobody could do anything. Magnussen, as Consul, has the right to life and death over all herds, living in Gaul."

"How many?"

"We talked about fifty-three humans."

I ran a hand over my face, hiding my eyes. Sherlock was right, I could do anything to prevent the massacre, but to know that fifty-three human beings had been killed, for no good reason, made me feel a devastating anger toward vampires.

"What does this story with our case?" I asked, wearily.

"Charles Augustus Magnussen is a great friend of Moriarty brothers. Magnussen must have exploited the properties of the Eupatorium rugosum to create the poison that killed Parker and the other two vampires and passed it to Moriarty."

"Why Magnussen should help Moriarty to kill other vampires?"

"As I told you, Magnussen and Moriarty are linked by a deep friendship. When it had to decide on the division of consulates, assigning them to individual households, Magnussen put the candidacy of Moriarty, who demanded the crown of Albion."

"But Albion has been assigned to your brother."

"Because Moriarty have no other allies. The other households don’t see them take kindly. No one dares to go against them openly, because everyone knows how dangerous and vindictive the Moriarty are. However, no one voted them and they are assigned the Hibernia Consulate."

"So, you think Magnussen has given to Moriarty poison to kill the allies of your brother, put him in a bad light, so the Council of One Hundred take away Albion from Mycroft and appoint it to Justin,"  I concluded thoughtfully.

"I always knew that you weren’t stupid," Sherlock smiled in satisfaction.

"Your reconstruction is perfect, but there is a problem."

"There is no evidence, I know. Mine is a beautiful intellectual reconstruction, but not enough. Certainly not to frame someone like Justin and James Moriarty," Sherlock growled.

"I imagine that, if there were a court for the vampires, my testimony of what Janine said me wouldn’t be allowed."

Sherlock shook his head: "Supposing that you do speak in a trial against a vampire, she made you a name, but didn’t she describe those who have given the poison. That girl didn’t provide you any information that could lead to a secure and irrefutable identification of her poisoner. James could always say that someone has presented to the donor himself out for him, to catch him."

"The donors of the other two killed vampires are dead, right?"

"Yes. The Moriarty never leave alive anyone who can accuse them."

"However, those donors might have talked to some other person. Someone might have seen those who have passed their poison. If we could rebuild this step, maybe we could try the involvement of Moriarty in the death of donors and vampires," I suggested.

Sherlock looked at me, passing his searching gaze on my body, from head to toe: "And you're a doctor. The herds of the dead vampires are in a common stable for auctioning and reassigned. The balance between the families of vampires must be maintained at all costs."

I shivered with horror that caused me those words. The vampires would separate the components of the human family, just to keep the peace between them: "And this as we find it helpful?"

"You will go from them and you will query them while you will assess they're all right. I will put on you a microphone, to record everything they say. Something, that isn’t important for you, could be an important vital clue for me, to bring to the solution of the case."

"All right. When we do that?"

"Immediately."

Sherlock took his coat and sent a message with his inseparable phone. Also I put on my jacket and waited, he attacked the leash to my collar. We went out, beneath an annoying drizzle that had begun to wet the streets of London by the first light of day.

 

 

The building, in front of which it stopped the taxi, was a farmhouse and was located on the outskirts of London. Near the farmhouse there were some big, white buildings with small windows. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what they were for those sheds.

"The slaves of the dead vampires are in those buildings, but I'm sure you've already guessed it," Sherlock informed me.

From the farmhouse came a tall, dark male, who came up to us with a smile on his face sweetly: "Lord Sherlock, what we need your kind visit? You came to see if there is some specimen of your liking, among those that will be auctioned off tomorrow?"

"I would like to make a gift to my brother and I’m looking for something special."

"Oh, a gift to His Majesty. It would be an honour if you found something among our animals. What are you looking for, in particular? A donor or one bedroom slave? Male or female? Young or old?"

"I don’t know. But my brother has everything. I wish my pet could control the specimens you have for sale, to make sure they are healthy and worthy of the Consul of Albion. In return for this favour, he could visit them and medicate their possible injuries. He was a doctor."

The man looked me over from head to toe, as if he were determining my value. I had to bite my tongue as if to blood to keep quiet. I couldn’t offend the stupid vampire and mess up our plan.

"It will be an honour to allow a private visit, Lord Sherlock. And I'll be pleased that your animal controls other beasts. Some, indeed, are sick and I don’t have a human doctor. Also, if you wanted to get rid of this old and take a more juvenile, I could give you a great price, in exchange."

"Thanks, Dimmock, if you had something better than this animal, I could really use this opportunity. Show me the pedigree of the herd you have in the stables."

"With pleasure, Lord Sherlock. Follow me to the first barn."

The vampire accompanied us to the first shed. Next to the door, there was a numerical keypad, which Dimmock typed in a code. With a sharp sound, the door opened and we entered and we were hit by a nauseating smell of sweat, urine and food. On both sides of the hall there were some bars, that delimited the cells, inside which were required of human prisoners. They were all naked, with a black collar around their neck. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, reminding me that I was trying to do justice to donors killed by James Moriarty. Not only. Even these poor human beings were paying for the murder of their Masters. If what Sherlock said was true, the three poisoned vampires were all in favour of better treatment of human beings and they were securely benevolent and righteous Masters.

"This is the herd of Lord Alastair Parker. There are some examples of great interest. If you would follow me to the computer, I will give you all the information you need, Lord Sherlock," Dimmock informed us, in obsequious tone.

Sherlock set me free from the leash and gave me a briefcase, which we had brought with us and which contained the microphone, in addition to medicines and material for first aid.

"Go inside, pet, and not get lost in too much talk or whipping that'll give you tonight, to punish you for your insolence, be fifty instead of forty," Sherlock called out to me dryly.

I kept my head down and said in a trembling voice: "Of course, Master. I will quickly, Master."

We had decided for the staging, to allow me to quickly break away from humans who had no interesting news to tell me. My intention, however, was to visit as many humans I possibly could.

Sherlock and Dimmock walked away, while the first cell door opened, allowing me to enter.

"My name is John Watson and I am a doctor," I whispered, approaching the occupants of the cell.

"I remember you. You were at the home of Lord Parker, the day he was found dead," a middle-aged man said.

"Yes. My Master is in charge of the murder investigation of Janine and Lord Parker. "

"Your Master is really a bastard. I have seen so many vampires like him, who consider us just animals. Lord Parker, however, was a righteous man. He treated us in the right way. You will not find battered people, among us. He didn’t use whips and other torture implements. He was also contrary to leashes and collars. He made us wear them only because he was forced by the laws of the vampires. If Lord Parker hadn’t used leashes and collars, he would be immediately deprived of his right of ownership on us, but he was fighting for their elimination."

"Do you know if anyone has ever threatened Lord Parker?"

"No. If that happened, however, he wouldn’t have talked to us, for us not to worry."

"Would he have talked to Janine? By the way, how's her last name was? Did she have relatives?"

"Her name was Janine Hawkins. Her sister Kayla is in the third cell. You can ask her. They were tied. If Janine has confided in someone, she did it safely with her sister. "

"Thank you. Good luck with your new Master. "

I left the first cell and went to the second, where I visited the humans imprisoned there. In fact, everyone enjoyed good health and showed no signs of mistreatment, if not recent. Evidently, Dimmock wasn’t a follower of the ideas of Lord Parker. I left the second cell and headed to the third, raising my head, to see Sherlock listening Dimmock, while extolling the praises of some young humans, with which he could replace me. I wondered if Sherlock himself seriously considering this possibility and how it would be my life, if I changed my Master. I might have run into someone like Alastair Parker and I could return to work in a hospital, rebuilding for me an almost normal life. Or, I could have finished in the James Moriarty's clutches and I would quickly die. I wasn’t sure what would be the solution that I would have preferred.

"I am John Watson and I am a doctor," I showed up again, entering the third cell.

A young woman, with the black hairs falling over her shoulders, came up to me. The blacks eyes were filled with pain: "You were with Janine, when she died, right?"

"Yes. Are you her sister Kayla?"

The young woman nodded. A tear slid down her reddened cheek, but she drove it away, with a sharp, angry gesture: "Janine was killed by the potion that the monster gave her, right?"

"Do you speak about James Moriarty?" I asked, full of hope.

"Yes. She told me everything. I told her not to trust that vampire. I tried to convince her that he deceiving her. Why vampires should turn us into one of them? If they did, from whom they could feed? I begged her to talk with Lord Parker, so he would confirm that it was possible, but she didn’t listen. That one Moriarty had explained that there were some risks and that she could have died during the transformation. Janine didn’t want Lord Parker stopped her. I ... I ..." Kayla was unable to hold back tears. She hid her face in her hands, with decency and dignity. I realized that she was crying, just because the girl's shoulders jerked. I took her in my arms and stroked her hair: "You don’t feel responsible for the death of your sister. It wasn’t your fault. Janine was blinded by love she felt for Lord Parker. It was this weapon that James Moriarty has used against her. If only we could prove it."

Kayla pulled away from me and stared into my eyes: "It might help a poison vial, which Moriarty gave to my sister?"

"Sure! Do you have one?"

The girl walked to a small shelf, where they were placed boxes. She took one, opened it and pulled out a handkerchief. Only when she handed it to me, secretly, I realized that the handkerchief was wrapped around a vial. I looked at her dumbfounded.

"My sister wanted me to be a vampire, too. I never took this poison. It wasn’t just because I didn’t trust that monster. I ... I ... Lord Parker was a good man, but there are few vampires who behave well with us. I didn’t take the potion because I was terrified of turning into a monster. If I did, I would be also dead and I'd along with Janine."

I grabbed Kayla by her shoulders: "Don’t say that. Thanks to you, we will take the murderess of Janine and will prevent other deaths. This is a great result and you have to be proud. Janine told you how and when she had these vials?"

"Janine told me that, during a party at the embassy in Gaul, a vampire with a strong Irish accent had approached her and had explained how he could turn it into one of them. She had already met with him in other parties, and he had always behaved so kind and friendly. The exchange took place in a suburban area of the embassy courtyard. He didn’t want other vampires to see them. The monster did believe Janine that he would be punished, if they found that he was helping her..."

"Pet! Do you think you're here to court the females of your species? Or do you think I'll wait while you enjoy yourself? Although I'd like to see you while you fuck that exemplary female, I have no time to lose. Hurry to complete the task that I entrusted to you or your lashes will be more than fifty," Sherlock’s voice boomed me.

I gritted my teeth, not to answer him. I knew that Sherlock had been forced to intervene, because my interview with Kayla was prolonging in a way that Dimmock would find suspect. Despite this, it wasn’t pleasant to be apostrophized so hard. Kayla said goodbye and put the vial in my purse. During the rest of my visits, I could note that Sherlock was quivering. He understood that I had found something interesting and couldn’t wait to be updated. It took hours, however, before boarding the taxi that would take us at Baker Street.

Dimmock held the taxi door, to allow Sherlock to climb: "The auction will take place tomorrow afternoon, but you can send me an email or call me whenever you want and I shall keep the specimens that you will choose for the Console and for yourself. Though, this price included the delivery of the animals chosen and collects the discarded beast."

"I'll let you know," Sherlock dismissed him coldly.

 

 

We didn’t speak at the beginning of the way back to Baker Street. Sherlock seemed lost in his thought. I was astonished, because I thought he would ask me once what I knew, but he didn’t. I couldn’t believe that Sherlock was really afraid that Moriarty was spying on us.

"Do you really think I want to free you?" The question caught me by surprise. It seemed impossible that, in the midst of an investigation so important, he was more interested in my fear of being sold to Dimmock rather than knowing what I had discovered. I looked up from the taxi pad and stared at Sherlock’s eyes. He was studying me, as if trying to read my answer in my mind.

I wasn’t sure at ease, kneeling at Sherlock’s foot, looming over me, with his searching eyes: "I don’t know what to think," I answered truthfully.

I saw a flash of anger cross the icy eyes, but it was a moment. Sherlock looked away from me and stared at the landscape, which flowed out the window: "What did you find?"

"Janine’s sister had a vial of poison, which Moriarty has given to donors, and she has delivered it to me. She also told me where and when they met for the exchange. "

"When we get home, we will take the footprints on the vial that woman gave you, and we will analyse the content. If that's what I think, it will be easy for Mycroft claim to see the results of Magnussen scientists."

"This will be enough to trap Moriarty?"

"No, but it will be enough to instil doubt in the minds of the other members of the Council of the One Hundred, and to warn all vampires who have sided with the Humans. If other donors were approached by James, they will testify against him."

"Didn’t you say that the testimony of a human has no value, in a court of vampires?"

"A single witness has no value. If it begins to be many and it can demonstrate that behind the actions of James there is a pattern, even the most stupid vampire can connect the dots and figure out what is the plan of Moriarty. Also, you're going to make you say where the donor has received the vial. I'm sure Mycroft can find images of the exchange, which could incriminate James."

"You vampires don’t know what the territorial immunity of a foreign embassy is?"

An amused smile lit up the face of Sherlock: "Oh, John! Our embassies don’t have the same meaning that they had yours. Simply, they are territories where the host country Console gives the Consuls from other areas to have a power equal to his and to do the honours, but nothing more. The Earth was divided into provinces for convenience only, but it is the Council of One Hundred that rules the world. Mycroft has every right to have cameras that control the territories of other embassies."

I shook my head in disbelief: "You are really weird," I muttered.         

 

 

The taxi stopped in front of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock paid the driver and we got out, without realizing that we were expected. Opened the door, we climbed the stairs, almost running. We were both excited and eager to trap James Moriarty to their responsibilities.

"I send a message to Mycroft. You prepare kits for fingerprints and slides for sampling the contents of the vial. Arrange samples with a few..." Sherlock was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson’s alarmed voice, coming from the stairs: "Stop! You can’t go up, this way! It's not polite."

"Don’t worry, pet. Your Master and I are old friends and there is no formality between us."

I raised a surprised look on Sherlock. The voice with a strong Irish accent was unmistakable: James Moriarty was stuck in the lion's den, of his own accord. A chill ran down my spine. Perhaps we were too optimistic. This visit, sudden and unexpected, does not bode well. And, to my consternation, I saw that even Sherlock Holmes felt the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's corner
> 
> I wonder if James occurred to Baker Street to take the tea or to confess their misdeeds. You could find a new chapter of this story on next Monday.
> 
> As for the Eupatorium rugosum, it is a plant that really does exist and is poisonous, although I'm not quite sure who is acting as I told myself. Overall, probably I mixed science and science fiction, but I hope you will forgive me.  
> Thanks to those who are reading. Thank you very much for comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions.
> 
> Ciao!


	5. Confrontation

It seemed that London had stopped breathing, as if it knew what was at stake, in what was happening at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock and I were in the kitchen and listened with attention and astonishment what happened on the stairs, which led to our apartment. The drawl and bored James Moriarty was getting closer and closer to us, pursued by the worried and angry Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm a friend of Sherlock. He will please him to see me."

"You will also be a friend of Lord Sherlock, but this is not the appropriate way to behave. I am here to announce visitors and you are preventing me to perform the duties, which were entrusted to me by my Master."

"Oh, old hen, stop squawking! I'm sure Sherlock will not punish you, for this miss you. He has a soft heart, he, with his animals. If you were part of my herd, I'd have pulled your neck, not to hear your heart-breaking voice."

Sherlock locked, inside, the kitchen door that accessed directly at the landing, went to a cupboard, which had always been closed by a padlock, and opened it quickly. I could not see its contents, but I was astonished, when Sherlock turned to me, after having closed the cabinet, holding a large knife: "Those soldiers, who trained you to self-will, teach you how and where to strike a vampire to kill him with an edged weapon, right?"

Sherlock's voice was tense and low. I stared at him with wide eyes, unable to believe what I saw and I did not note the mention, which Sherlock had done, to the soldiers who had trained us to fight against vampires.

"John! You know how to kill a vampire with a knife, do you?" Sherlock urged me testily.

"Yes, yes, sure. The jugular. You also have the jugular. If you cut one, you die bled in a matter of seconds," I said, recalling the lessons that we had learned from the Colonel Moran.

"Perfect. Take this knife and remains hidden in the kitchen. Listen to what happens in the living room and not make noise. James must not know that you are here. Act only if I’m in danger. I will take apart the bag, so that anything, James and I say, is recorded. Do you understand well?"

"Yes, of course." I stared at the large knife with a mixture of fear and desire. At home there was always been a weapon that would allow me to get rid of Sherlock. If had I known, I would have tried to get the knife? I would have had the courage to kill Sherlock, considering all he had done to me? O my medical studies and the Hippocratic Oath would have won on my self-preservation?

"I trust you, John. Always," Sherlock whispered, handing me the knife.

I took it with a conditioned reflex. I stood next to the table, while Sherlock was in the living room, approaching the door that separated it from the kitchen, just in time, before the entrance door opened, instead no one had knocked.

I approached the door, peering into the other room through the crack that Sherlock had left. A man dark, thin, not very tall, elegantly dressed, entered the living room, with hands outstretched: "Sherlock, my friend, how nice to meet you again so soon," he began, in a cheerful voice.

James Moriarty headed Sherlock and embraced him warmly. I saw a grimace appear on the face of my Master, but it disappeared quickly, when James broke the embrace.

"What do I have this impromptu, James?"

I grasped the handle of the knife convulsively, almost painful. And expected, while the two vampires began their game of chess.

**Confrontation**

 

Ms. Hudson appeared in the room, flushed and clearly furious, rubbing the white apron with her hands: "Master, I’m mortified. I'm very sorry, but I could not stop him."

Sherlock waved with his hand, to stop the flood of excuses, which would flow from the mouths of the poor woman, very distraught: "Do not worry, Mrs. Hudson, is not your fault. I know that no one can stop James Moriarty, when he wants something. I certainly don’t expect that you succeed it. Would you be so kind as to go to your apartment and prepare a tea for us?"

"Of course, Lord Sherlock. Thank you for understanding." The old lady whirled round so stiffly and left the room, direct to their accommodation, to perform the order, which had been given from our Master.

"Would you be so kind as to go to your apartment and prepare a tea for us?" Moriarty repeated the phrase of Sherlock in a mocking tone.

"Do not you ever dare to insult as Mrs. Hudson. I may decide that I do not like your face and change you the features. Was it clear, James?" Sherlock hissed harshly and cold, going to sit on his chair, without inviting Moriarty to sit somewhere.

"How you are susceptible, dear Sherlock. If you insist, I'll try to be gentle with the old hen."

"What do you want, James?"

"I can’t come to visit an old friend?" Moriarty retorted, dropping into the chair in front of that, where my Master was sitting.

"We've never been friends, James."

There was a moment of silence. I could not see the face of James Moriarty, but I heard the irreverent smile in his voice: "You're not still mad at me for the story of Victor Trevor! It's been ages."

"It has been just ninety-five years, James."

"Ninety-five... one hundred… three hundred years... Sherlock... Sherlock... How matters how much time has elapsed? Victor Trevor was just an animal. "

"Victor was my donor."

"You can’t call him donor. You had hidden your true nature. You drank his blood only after you consumed sexual intercourse, taking advantage of the fact that he was asleep. You literally stole his blood. What happened, is not my fault. It was you who killed him."

A furious rage across Sherlock's face in a flash. If looks could have killed, James Moriarty would be dead, charred instantly. The tension between the two vampires, was such, that I could feel it even I, although I was not in the same room with them. I jumped at the soft knock at the front door.

"Come in, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock invited her, trying to keep control.

The old woman came in, set the tray on the coffee table, which was located between the two armchairs, and poured a little tea into cups.

"Go ahead, Ms. Hudson. We're this alone."

The woman gave a nod with her head and left the room. Moriarty leaned over the table, observing the contents of the cups: "Tea. I was hoping that it was a code word to tell the old hen to bring us a bit of your special reserve of blood. Instead, you really are offering me the senseless human gruel. - He looked around, as if searching for something – Now, you will call your own pet and offered me a taste of his blood, right? I usually prefer more youthful and fresh blood, but I'm really curious to taste his. They tell me that it has a delicious taste."

A shudder ran down my back. The idea that the monster sank his fangs into any part of my body, disgusted me and scared me. I knew that it was customary for vampires offer the blood of their own donor to guests as a sign of friendship, but I strongly hoped that Sherlock did not want to hide their hostility toward James, offering him my blood.

"James. My patience is wearing thin. Say what you came to say and go. I'm very busy and you're wasting my valuable time."

Moriarty leaned over the table and took one of the cups: "You are so rude, Sherlock. Do you really do not want to talk about the good old days? For example, the funny expression that came over Victor Trevor face when I told him that you were a vampire and that you suck his life, without his permission?"

"James ..." The guttural growl of my Master made me goose bumps. I had never heard him use a tone so threatening. If I was James Moriarty, I would have jumped at the foot of Sherlock invoking forgiveness and mercy. To my surprise, however, Moriarty laughed, amused.

"You know Sherlock? You are always hilarious and predictable. It will be a real disappointment, not being able to see your expression when Justin will be awarded the title of Consul of Albion."

"And why should your brother subtract the sceptre of Albion to mine?"

"Because Mycroft and the other vampires, weaklings like him, have counted hours," Moriarty said, shrugging his shoulders, as if he was saying something obvious and predictable.

Sherlock put his hands clasped under his chin, crossed his long legs and raised an eyebrow, and his lips curled into a slight wry smile: "Are you confessing to killing Alastair Parker and the other two vampires, because of their moderate ideas on how to treat humans? "

"Exact."

The look on Sherlock's face turned serious and careful. He was studying his interlocutor, trying to figure out why he was admitting his own faults in the three vampire’s death. Also I was very puzzled. Could it be so simple make him confess? Sherlock had spoken about him as an intelligent, treacherous and dangerous vampire. So why he was admitting his responsibility? In fact, Moriarty had not said anything really incriminating. He could not know that Sherlock was recording their conversation. Probably, even with the registration, without physical evidence, Moriarty would deny everything and shouted to the plot. In the end, it would be treated the word of one against the other. Yet, something was wrong. It almost seemed that Moriarty was taking time. Why? What was he waiting to happen? More my uneasiness increased stronger I grabbed the knife, as if it were my only lifeline.

"How would you have killed Lord Parker?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

"I poisoned the donor of Alastair. Poor, small, dumb beast. She really thought I gave her an elixir, which transformed her into a vampire. I do not remember who invented this absurd story, so a human can become a vampire, but it was a brilliant idea. These idiots have not understood that we are a breed apart, which has evolved in parallel with them. We have enough genetic traits in common that we can procreate others of our race, through them, but humans can’t be turned into vampires."

"Compliments. You have deceived a girl in love. Brilliant. Why?" The sarcasm was not very convincing in the voice of my Master. Sherlock blinked rapidly, as if he was trying to focus on the vampire, he had before him.

"You seem distracted, Sherlock. Are you not fine?"

"I'm very fine. It does not take your genius to deceive a girl who wants to be deceived. All this, just to have the crown of Albion?"

"Do you really think that it is a little thing? Do you think, perhaps, that there will be an exchange? Albion to us and Hibernia to you? No, dear Sherlock, will not go well. With your death, your brother will be deposed and your family will lose its seat on the Council of One Hundred, where it will be replaced by Wilkins. Guess who will support the Wilkins and what will happen once _we_  have the majority in the Council?"

I did not know who the Wilkins was and I was not interested either. I stopped paying attention to what he said, when Moriarty had said, with extreme security, that Sherlock would die. I looked into my Master, who had also opened the second button of his shirt, running a hand over his face, as if he were struggling to focus on that, Moriarty told him. What was happening?

"Do you have some trouble breathing, dear Sherlock?" Moriarty put his mug to the coffee table.

Sherlock put his hand around his neck and tried to get up, but his legs did not hold up him and he fell to the ground. Moriarty watched him, remaining seated, with his hands resting on the arms of the chair. The voice was full of anger and hatred: "This whole modernity has made you forget that the ancient remedies are always the best and go unnoticed."

"What ..." Sherlock struggled to stay lucid and his tried to feet, but his body did not respond to orders, which the brain was trying to teach him.

Moriarty raised his right hand. I noticed the ring, big and valuable, he wore: "This ring belonged to my family since time immemorial. Literally. I should do some research to find out how many enemies of the Moriarty family became victims of its devious innocent appearance. You must know that the ring has a small, but efficient needle, which transfers a poison from it within the person to die. Of course, the poison must be very powerful, because the ring can contain little poison, but what I have inoculated in you it is. You don’t have much time, my dear Sherlock. "

"The embrace ..."

Moriarty made an impatient gesture with his hand, puffing angrily: "It's the only flaw of this little gem. To inoculate the poison into the target, you have to shake his hand or hug him. In short, you have to have physical contact with him. Inappropriate, do not you think? Unfortunately, you can’t have everything in life. Sometimes, to get what you want, you have to get your hands dirty. In this case, however, it's worth it. Justin wanted us to find another way to kill you, but I would have never given up, for the world, the privilege of being the vampire that will put an end to your worthless life. I want my face to be the last thing you see before you close your eyes forever. I want you to know that I WON! "Moriarty shouted the last words, with fierce anger.

After another attempt, Sherlock fell on his back. I could see his chest rising and falling heavily, desperately looking for a bit of oxygen. Moriarty stood up, looming on my Master. The rigid posture, clenched fists. The kick left before I understood what he was going to do. Sherlock groaned, losing the little breath in his body. I opened the kitchen door, silently, and I headed for Moriarty.

"You, spineless! Bleeding hearts, you think you are on the side of the angels!  **We** are the race that should have dominated the planet forever. WE! Not those stupid beasts, which you refuse to be afraid. Even now that we are finally coming out, taking the place that is rightfully ours, you are ready to come to terms with those animals. And why? Because they have threatened to use their damned nuclear weapons!"

"They will destroy the world. We can’t ... "Sherlock tried to reply, but was silenced by another kick, which hit him in the ribs.

"They would never do that! They're just threatening us, to force us to surrender. And you are so stupid to fall into their trap! When  _we_  will be in power and we will have silenced the voices of those like your brother, who advocate an agreement with the beasts, we will exterminate the old and sick animals, which are useless, dropping their blood on the hands of the military, which who dared oppose our plan of conquest. Then, we will close herds in well-protected stables. We have no need to continue to preserve the traditions of their civilization. We will destroy everything that the animals have created and we will build a society in which everyone will have the place he deserves. Who is against us will be silenced, even forever, if necessary. It will be a shame you can’t attend my complete victory."

"They'll stop you..." Sherlock whispered, getting weaker.

Moriarty’s cold laugh filled the silence of the room: "Who will stop me, poor little Sherlock? Your dear brother, the ice vampire? Do not make me laugh. Once you'll be dead and gone, everyone will understand that Mycroft Holmes is over. They will abandon him, even whose he believes to be his closest and most trusted allies. Do not worry, though. We will be indulgent with him. We will allow him to retire to that little country cottage, you possess in Sussex, so he can see what should be the true Age of Vampires. What fun would it be to kill him? There would be no loser to attend our triumph. It will also be a perfect example of what could happen to anyone is put against us. Who is not with us, will be destroyed, torn apart, he will lose everything. Once we eliminated the Holmes, no one will dare oppose us."

Sherlock tried to turn, but Moriarty struck him again, causing him to fall on his back again. I was getting closer and closer, but I had to be careful not to make any noise. If the vampire had realized that I was behind him, he could make me harmless in a few seconds and we would not have stood a chance. I had to be able to take him by surprise and I had only one chance. If I failed, it would not save any of us.

"If you're worrying about your pet, do not. Now I'm going to take him and rip his throat, here, beside you. So you will see him die, while I will feed from him. About the old hen, however, I'll pull her neck. As you see, I thought of everything and you can die in peace. No one will link me to your death. We will place the responsibility of your murder on human rebels, so we can bring our final lunge also against them. And everyone lived happily ever after. Except for you, of course."

I arrived behind Moriarty. With one swift move, I grabbed his hair and planted a long knife into the throat of the vampire, stepping back. Moriarty turned to me, put his hands to his throat. His blacks eyes and mouth were wide open in surprise. He grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled it out with a sharp gesture. A grimace of contempt and hatred deformed facial features of Moriarty, who took a step towards me, brandishing the weapon as if to strike me: "You ... damn ... BEAST ...!" He growled.

I did not understand where he found the strength to move. He should have been dead already. That hatred can keep him alive? I took a couple of steps back, trying to think what I could do to stop it. It was not necessary that I thought something. James Moriarty fell to the ground with a thud. He did not move.

 

 

There was silent again in the living room. I could only hear my heart beating crazily and my laboured breathing, as if I had running for kilometres and kilometres. I stared at the vampire's body, fell at my feet. I killed a vampire. Not even anyone unknown. I had killed the brother of the Consul of Hibernia. What would become of me? They would have freed me? Or they would have condemned me, without giving me a chance to defend myself? I was paralyzed. Upset. I hardly noticed the gasp from Sherlock: "John...” a whisper, barely audible, almost incomprehensible, but enough to make me come out of my daze. I turned my head toward the other vampire lying on the ground, dying. I tilted my head, watching with detached curiosity, without moving other muscles.

"John... blood..." Sherlock pleaded.

I stared my eyes in those eyes, that they had searched and dissected me for six years. I looked at his hands, which had made me things that I never imagined they could do.

"John..."

There was fear in his blue eyes like ice. Fear of dying. A desperate plea for help. But I could not move a muscle, to go to help Sherlock. In my mind ran images of six years of living with a being, who repeatedly raped and humiliated me, interspersed with others in which the same monster was kind and gentle. And I did not know what to do. I could have let him die and run away, away from Baker Street, London. Or, I would have killed him, avenging of all, he had done to me. Whatever had been my decision, it could be a good time to go away and not look back. I knew where Sherlock held the stick that unlocked my collar. In a few minutes I could remove the symbol of my slavery from my neck and vanish in the night, which was moving forward, to put an end to this crazy day. I would not have a place in which went, I would not have known what to do with my life, but I would be free. If I had caught again, they would not have assigned me to another vampire. Not after I had killed two vampires. The brothers of two consuls. They would definitely killed me, probably so atrocious and painful, but I'd be dead and I would be free anyway.

On the other way, if Sherlock had died, his death would cause the end of Mycroft’s reign. Justin Moriarty would take advantage of the situation to get the crown of Albion. Unless Mycroft had not denied his support to the moderates vampires and had sided with those who wanted to crush humanity and reduce it to nothing more than cattle. In both cases, for humanity there would be no possibility of salvation. The hope, that Humans and Vampires could live together peacefully and egalitarian, would be swept away by Sherlock’s death. I felt as if the weight of the entire world burdening on my shoulders, as if salvation or condemnation of Humanity depended on my decision. My will to leave to die or kill or allow living the monster that held me captive for six years. The future of two races depended on the life or death of Sherlock Holmes. And his destiny was in my hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's corner
> 
> John has to take a very important decision and it is right to give him time to think, do not you think? I hope that no one will get angry for the beating Sherlock takes from James. After the way he treated poor John, it should be a bit 'also mistreated him.
> 
> Thanks to those who arrived up to here to read the story.  
> Thanks for comments, kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks.
> 
> Every comment is always welcome.
> 
> If you want to know what the decision of John, the appointment is always here, next Monday.
> 
> Ciao!


	6. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I got to write on several occasions, this is a series of strong content, which could annoy. In the second story there has been less violence than the first, but in this chapter there are bad situations. To forgive me, I can assure you that this time is not Sherlock to mistreat poor John, victim of almost any mistreatments.  
> Hoping that no one flees from the story, I hope you enjoy reading.

The evening was falling, dark and cold. The morning drizzle had turned into sleet. Since vampires had become masters of the world, there was much silence at nightfall. It seemed that humanity was closed in their homes, trying to escape the ferocious enemy. Or just vampires had decreed a curfew and no human left their home after nightfall. Lot of things about the world outside the 221B that still I did not know. If I run away, I would be easily identifiable? Perhaps, seeing no collar, they thought I was a vampire. Unless they all knew each other. In this case, they would find me immediately. I stared at Sherlock, whose look was more and more tarnished. He had almost nothing left of the bright light that lit his eyes, when he was excited, thrilled or furious. Sherlock was dying before my eyes. The monster, who had separated me from my family, who had taken away from me six years of my life, who he had raped me, was dying. I should be happy, rejoice in the death of my tormentor. Instead, I felt a huge weight, at heart, like I was losing my best friend. It was this that made me decide. I picked up the knife, which had fallen from the hands of James Moriarty, when he died, and headed for Sherlock. Perhaps one day I would regret the decision I had taken, but, at that moment, the weight pressing down on my chest, disappeared.

**Justice**

 

I knelt down beside Sherlock and shook him: "Sherlock, can you hear me? Can you bite my wrist?" I asked, putting my wrist to his mouth. Sherlock did not answer. His mouth was open, breathing heavily. I hoped to not have waited too long. I cut one of my palm and dropped a few drops of blood directly into Sherlock's mouth, but he gave no sign of improvement. I do not give up. I clenched my fist, so that more blood came out from the cut, which I was self-inflicted. Finally, his eyes became more lucid. Sherlock managed to raise their hands, grabbing my wrist and sinking in it his fangs. I let out a moan of pain, but I didn’t subtract my arm. Sherlock sucked greedily and I was wondering if he would have drained me completely when the door flew open, slamming against the wall: "Freeze where you are!" A female voice intimate. I did not move, but I could imagine how the scene would appear to someone who had arrived at that moment. James Moriarty was lying in a pool of blood. Dead. I was next to my Master, who was dying, and I held in my hand a knife. The same with which I had killed James Moriarty.

"YOU! Damn animal! I knew we should not trust you!" Sally Donovan’s voice shouted.

Someone grabbed me, passing an arm around my neck.

"No ..." I tried to resist, explaining, but there was no time. Whoever had grabbed me, he slammed me with my face to the ground. The blow dazed me and I could do nothing to stop my abuser. I saw Gregory Lestrade knelt down beside Sherlock: "Do not worry, we arrived in time. You're safe. Now we take you to the hospital. You'll be fine," the Chief of Scotland Yard was reassuring my Master, who tried to speak, but could not explain what had happened.

Someone put his knee in the middle of my back and grabbed my wrists, tying them with handcuffs. With cold voice, Donovan hissed in my ear: "You'll pay for your crime, you beast!"

Hands grabbed me firmly by the arms, lifting me and dragging me out of 221B Baker Street, as if I was the worst of criminals. Mrs. Hudson looked at me through her eyes full of pain and sadness. I found the strength to give her a smile and whispered: "Goodbye," before being stuffed into a police car. Strangely, they let me sit on the seat. I leaned my head against the window, to see the snow, which was falling increasingly abundant on a London almost deserted. I was sure that this would be the last time, where I would see snow.

 

 

I do not know where they took me. The darkness and the snow prevented me from understanding which roads we were traveling on. Surely, we went out from London, although not long it took us to reach our destination. Wherever we arrived, I was dragged out of the car and unceremoniously brought in what looked like a prison.

"Now you will tell me everything that happened, animal," Donovan growled angrily.

"I protected my Master..." I started to explain, but the vampire hit me in the stomach. The pain and of all the breath escape, I had in my body, made me fall on my knees.

"You have not yet realized that you do not speak unless you're questioned, animal?"

I said nothing, but the revenge came anyway. Donovan hit me with a kick to the head and I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I hoped that I was dreaming. I hoped it was just a nightmare, from which I would soon wake up and I would have laughed. Instead, the pain I felt was real. They had been taken me to a room, small and dimly lit, stripped me and hung me on chains hanging from the ceiling. I was helpless and at the mercy of whoever was in the room. I realized that someone medicated my wound to the hand and the small holes on the left wrist from Sherlock fangs. It was all so absurd. They had taken care of me, to be able to torture and kill me. A figure loomed in front of me. Did not take me long to recognize Sally Donovan: "Finally you woke up, animal," she chuckled while fiddling with a truncheon. Whiplash, however, did not come from her. There was someone behind me, struck me several times. Taken by surprise, I could not hold the first scream of pain or the following.

"How do you get in touch with the human rebels?" Donovan asked.

"No ..." I tried to answer, but the whip still hit my back and the words turned into a scream.

"Where did you get the poison to kill your Master?"

This time, not even tried to argue. I felt a terrible pain in my heart. Sherlock was dead. My Master had not survived the poison, which Moriarty had inoculated. At this point, I even would have saved. No one was aware of the plan we drew up to frame Moriarty. No one knew of the recorder, in the bag. No one would believe me if I told my side of the story. My life was over. I just had to hope that my heart gave way quickly to torture, not to suffer too long. Probably, it would not happen. I did not deserve a quick death and pitiful. I hesitated before rescue Sherlock, and this hesitation had cost the life of my Master. Above all, his death meant the end of any hope of peace between Humanity and Vampires. I had the opportunity to make a difference, to save my species and the entire world from a war, which would have a devastating effect on everyone, but I had failed. The first to pay the consequences would have been I. The only consolation I had left, was that I would not have witnessed the destruction of the world that I knew.

The shots of whip ceased, returning me to the reality in which I was. My back ached terribly. I could feel the blood pouring from the wounds. Sally Donovan had brought behind me. A cold tongue passed over the cuts, temporarily relieving pain.

"Your blood is just lovely, animal, but I believe that Sherlock had told you, right? And you, instead of being grateful to have a master that fed you and cared for you, you killed him. Who gave you the poison? Where do the rebels hide themselves?"

The inspector Donovan would not ever hear. She was not looking for the truth. She just wanted a scapegoat, someone who paid for the death of the brothers of two Consuls. Maybe getting my confession, she also made career. I might as well tell her what she wanted to be told, even what I did not, hoping that this would put a quick end to my suffering: "I have never met any rebel. They put the poison vial in my pocket, with a ticket, which I destroyed."

I was expecting a whiplash instead was the truncheon to hit my ribs, taking my breath away.

"I do not believe you, animals. Tell me the truth or you will regret being born!" Donovan yelled, using the electric charge, which was equipped with a truncheon. Almost I did not scream. By now I missed even strength to cry out.

"I know no one of human rebels," I whispered, and I had to laugh, because it was the absolute truth, but I knew that the vampire would not have believed me.

"Are you having fun, animal? Do you like suffer? I'll settle right away!" The truncheon began to do its job meticulously, alternating shots to electric shocks. The vampire with the whip had become a mere spectator, leaving all the fun at Donovan. For her, this was also an opportunity to take revenge on the way Sherlock had mistreated because of me, the day when we had known at Lord Parker’s home. I knew nothing she could use to get to the Resistance, but she kept hitting me, so that I feel more pain as possible, but not enough to make me lose consciousness. It was fortunate that I do not really know anything about the human resistance. If I knew something, I was not sure that I would not reveal anything, just to make vampires stop torture. I do not know how long it lasted all this. It seemed like days, but it had to be only hours. Then, finally, I fell into a dark world, where nothing and no one could reach me. The pain stopped, but not the life.

 

 

When I regained consciousness, I was still naked, on the seat of a car, with my hands tied behind my back. I did not open my eyes. Pretend to be unconscious, it would save me more shots, at least for now. We were moving. Strangely, I did not feel cold. Perhaps the snow had stopped, but it was still winter. The car had the heating on. Even vampires felt cold. We stopped and the door was wide open.

"Then this is the animal that killed Lord Moriarty?" Asked a man's voice, curiously.

"Yes, he’s him. Unfortunately, eh doesn’t know anything of the rebels," Sally Donovan said.

"From what you’ve narrowed him down, I'm sure he did lie to you."

"There is a judge?"

"You already take it to court? Without the presence of his master?" The man's voice was very surprised. I did not understand what Master was referring, as Sherlock was dead.

"There is no reason to delay. Before we condemn this monster before Humans know that they can’t kill with impunity any of us, hoping to escape," Donovan said.

I did not have time to think. I was dragged out of the car, I led through a series of stairs and corridors to a room. I opened my eyes and found myself in a courtroom. A man, who showed some sixty years, with the grey wig resting on his hair, sat at the judge's bench. Before him, a short, fat man with a black cassock and the same wig, was explaining why a human being, who I have not seen, deserved that was cut out a hand.

"Who gave you permission to enter? Do not you see that we are hearing?" The judge snapped irritably.

"I apologize, Judge Thorne, but this animal should be judged immediately. He killed Lord James Moriarty," Donovan told him.

I did not mind the fact that she did not mention Sherlock. Probably the fact that I had killed the brother of the Consul of Hibernia was more than enough reason to be sentenced to death.

The judge made a gesture with his hand. I was taken in front of him and dropped to the ground, as if I were a lot of junk. I was not sorry to be lying on the floor. It was fresh, solid and firm, unlike the rest of the world that was spinning around me.

"Inspector Donovan, why this man is naked? Do not you have any respect for this court?" The judge asked, coldly.

"This is not a man, judge Thorne. He is an animal that killed one of us and does not deserve to be treated with respect," Donovan said, in a resentful tone.

"Whatever you think that this man has done, it has not been proven and he deserves to be treated with dignity, until the sentence. Who says that this human killed Lord Moriarty?"

"No one is telling this, Judge Thorne. We caught him. He held yet the knife with which he had killed Lord Moriarty and he confessed."

"Really? Did he confess? But do not tell me, Inspector Donovan. Who knows why this poor man confessed. I see that you questioned him gently, establishing with him a relationship of trust, which led him to reveal his faults, of his own free will," the voice of the judge oozed sarcasm.

I watched him better. The high table hid in part to my views, but I noticed the hostile attitude he had towards Donovan. Brown eyes constantly passed from me to the vampire, showing pity and anger at the same time.

"This beast was murdered in cold blood James Moriarty," Donovan insisted.

Perhaps the judge was one of the vampires on the side of Humanity. Maybe he heard me and would stop Justin Moriarty, preventing his rise to the throne of Albion.

"I tried to protect my Master ..." I intervened, the voice made hoarse from screaming and thirst.

The truncheon hit me mercilessly.

"That's enough! – the judge thundered – I do not allow you torture defendants in my courtroom!"

"Are you saying you feel sorry for the murderer of my brother?"

I did not need someone to tell me who it belonged to the vampire's voice, who had just spoken. I recognized the expensive shoes of Justin Moriarty. I wanted to see his face, but every movement caused me pain and it made no sense to suffer just to satisfy a little curiosity. I stood on the cold floor, waiting to know my fate.

 

 

The atmosphere was tense. The arrival of Justin Moriarty had made more complicated my position.

"So, Roger, answer my question. Do you feel pity for the murderer of my brother? You are so beneficial to build relationships with these  _animals,_  to gloss over the fact that they have killed one of  _us?_ "

The judge had stiffened. The body was taut as a violin string: "Justin, I'm sorry for your loss. I understand that for you is a painful moment... "

"You understand? You might have been killed your brother? No, Roger. He killed  _my_  brother. In a cruel and fierce. This beast deserves everything that a good inspector Donovan has done to him."

"There are laws that we ourselves have voted and approved. If we want to prove we are better than human beings, we must adhere to the rules we have established."

"Roger, do not be ridiculous. We all know how these laws are wrong and have been voted on by vampires in love with their pets, who did not have any consideration for  _our own_  good."

"These beings are not beasts, Justin. They talk, think, suffer, and have feelings, just like us. We can procreate with them. This can only be a sign that they are not so different from us. We need to reach an agreement with humans. Many men and women worthy of respect and trust. Among them there are some bad apples, definitely, but there are also among us."

"What are you suggesting, Roger? That my brother was a criminal and he deserved to be slain this animal?"

"I did not say that, Justin. Given that we are talking to sentence a man to death, I want to be sure that he deserves death."

"Do not talk about him, as if it were our equal. He's a rabid animal and as such should be suppressed for the good of our community," Justin Moriarty growled.

"Moriarty killed Alastair Parker..." I interjected, with a faint voice. The truncheon electrical discharge prevented me to keep talking.

"You have not understood that you have to be quiet when you're not questioned?" Sally Donovan had not missed the opportunity to punish me.

"Inspector Donovan, I've already told you should not hit the defendant in this courtroom! If this continues, I will have to have you arrested for disdain of court."

"Really you get down on me, to protect the murderer of my brother?" Justin Moriarty hissed, sharply and cold, doing nothing to hide the threat implicit in his question.

"And you, Justin? You really had assassinated three vampires, to snatch the crown of Albion from me"

 

 

An eerie silence descended in the courtroom. It can’t say that vampires do not know how to make revenue for effect. Even the Mycroft Holmes's voice was unmistakable. I did not know whether to be relieved or worried, since his arrival. His main problem was definitely Justin Moriarty, who was contending the crown of Albion, but I had killed his brother, at least according to what they had all understood. He was certainly not come to save me. I wanted to laugh. What could make me Mycroft more than just kill me? Maybe he would torture me long, but my condition was already such that I would not last for long. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I did not notice that someone was leaning next to me, until I felt a hand gently stroking my hair. I stiffened. I had become accustomed to violence, but the friendliness made me suspicious, because I feared it was only a prelude to something worse. The big surprise, however, was the voice that accompanied the caress.

"John, can you hear me? What have they done to you," Sherlock Holmes murmured, with a tone full of grief and anger.

I could not believe my ears. Donovan had left me thinking that he was dead, but it was live!

"Sh ... Sh ... Sherlock!" I managed to whisper. I had not the strength to turn around or at least to turn my head to get visual confirmation that my ears had not had a hallucination, they had only heard what they wanted to hear.

"It's all right, John. Now we go home," Sherlock whispered softly. I felt him move to my side and something warm and soft was leaning on my battered body, to protect it from the gaze of all and cold. I narrowed my eyes and I recognized the Sherlock black coat. I curled up in order to stay warm.

"What are you doing, Sherlock? - Justin snapped, furious – Don’t you really think you can lead out of here the murderer of my brother, alive and in one piece!"

"Whole, I'd say no. And I hope he can survive what has been done. This time do not get away with this, Donovan. You had no right to torture my donor and bring him before a judge. Only my brother and I have the right to punish him."

"Your animal has killed a vampire! I had every right to take him to trial," Donovan muttered.

"Not in the absence of one of his masters. - Lestrade's voice was cold and angry - The rules are clear. A human, especially if he is a donor, can be questioned and judged only in the presence of his master or the Knight of the family, if not both give up their privileges. It's not the case. Of this, however, we will discuss in Scotland Yard, Inspector. Now, you dare not open your mouth. Your situation is already quite compromised. I would recommend you not to further worsen your situation."

"All these fine words will not save the murderer of my brother!" Justin yelled, furious.

"But these yes," Mycroft said, firmly.

Within seconds, the room was filled with the voices of Sherlock and James. It seemed to have gone back in time, at 221B Baker Street. The recording was perfect. Every word was clear and understandable, even for Donovan. It finished with the last words, which James had given me. There was still a long silence. Sherlock continued to stroke me, moving his hands on my body, as if he were going to make sure of my condition.

"Many people can testify that this record has not been altered. - Mycroft spoke again, calmly and confidently - Sherlock had a microphone, which was broadcasting directly to the Secret Service of Council of the One Hundred. It was the First Councillor in person to authorize the intervention of Scotland Yard, even though the agents had to not knowing what they would find, to prevent you could save your brother."

"Justin, you have something to say for yourself?" The judge did not hide the satisfaction he felt, accusing Justin Moriarty's plot hatched behind Mycroft.

"As you have heard, my donor has acted in my defence. - Sherlock interjected – I provided myself the knife, ordering him to kill James, if I were in danger. John has done nothing but obey my orders and he can’t be blamed for anything. In addition, he saved my life, giving me his blood, which gave me strength enough to resist the poison, until arrival at the hospital."

"I agree. – the judge approved - Justin, prepared to answer for your actions before the Council of One Hundred. This time, do not get out clean, as you’re usual. I think even Magnussen will not dare to intervene in your favour. As for your work, Inspector Donovan, I do not know what the Superintendent Lestrade want do, but personally I will start a procedure against you, pointing out meticulously all regulations that you ignored. You will be lucky if, at the end of this investigation, you will only be degraded and sent to direct traffic. Sherlock Holmes, once again entrust the custody of your donor. Take care of him, because he has proved a loyal human being and deserves your respect."

"Thank you, judge Thorne. It will be done, as you suggest," Sherlock said.

The coat was slightly away, so he can remove the handcuffs. Every part of my body ached. However, the Moriarty had been stopped. Sherlock and Mycroft were alive. The faction of vampires, who wanted peace with the humans, emerged strengthened from a situation that had started in the worst way. I could be glad with the part that I had in all of this. Two thin arms, but muscled lifted me, taking me under my back and under my knees, as if I were a child to take to bed. Being careful not to get too bad and not to discover me, Sherlock held me protectively and possessive, but I had nothing to complain about. I was in the safest place that existed on Earth: the arms of my Master.

Sherlock stopped a few centimetres from Donovan and brought his mouth to an ear of the vampire: "Do not think I do not revenge, Sally. I told you not to touch him. Pray that John did not die or there will be no place on Earth where you can hide to escape my revenge."

Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock walked toward the door, holding me tightly in his arms. I heard footsteps, which followed those of Sherlock.

"I did come the car in the underground parking," said a woman's voice, which seemed familiar.

"Thank you, Anthea. Always efficient, as usual," Mycroft thanked.

I heard no more. I did not need to hear any more. I was able to let me wrap the darkness of unconsciousness, because I was safe and headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's corner
> 
> I do not think there was anyone who had thought that John left Sherlock to die. The relationship between the human and the vampire has really changed. The next will be the last chapter of the second story that makes up this series.  
> To find out what happened to John and Sherlock, the appointment is always for Monday.  
> Thanks to those who has come to read this far and left comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions.  
> Anyone who wants to leave written here, what do you think of the story, will always be welcome.
> 
> Ciao!


	7. Building the future

Sherlock’s arms are the only thing I remember clearly of the journey to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock did not allow anyone to touch me. He held me in his arms also in the car, still wrapped in his coat, which seemed oddly warm and comfortable. I did nothing but come and go from a state of feverish unconsciousness. Every time I opened my eyes, I could hear the low voice of Sherlock, whispering in my ear, while one of his hands stroking me, reassuring: "Sshh, it's all right, John. Everything is alright. You'll be fine. Soon you will return to want to punch me. Rest. Soon we'll be home. You'll be fine."

Sherlock’s words sounded encouraging, to my ears, and I slipped in the peaceful unconsciousness without fearing that it might happen something bad. Unconsciously, I was sure that he would protect me from anyone who tried to attack me.

 

 

**Building the future**

 

When we arrived at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock started to call Mrs. Hudson loudly. Those screams made me get out of the half-sleep, in which I had fallen.

"Mrs. Hudson, come on and take the necessary for first aid."

"Oh my God! What they did to poor John?"

"Mrs. Hudson, not now! I'll explain everything later. Take what I asked."

I tried to wriggle from his grasp: "I can climb stairs alone," I muttered.

"Do not be ridiculous. All we need is you fall down the stairs," the voice was angry, but there was an odd note in his voice, which I had never heard. Maybe it was the fever. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I could have sworn that Sherlock was worried about me.

I stopped fighting, because it was useless to oppose Sherlock. Even if I was in perfect health, he was still stronger than me and I would never be able to do what I wanted. It was frustrating for me, a grown man, to be handled as if I were a small child. Of course, I was not particularly high and heavy, but it does not like to know that I have no opportunity to resist to someone.

Contrary to what I expected, Sherlock took me into his room and he laid me gently on his bed. My beaten and tired body found really comfortable that position. The mattress was comfortable and helped to ease the pain. With a delicacy, which was not usual, Sherlock took off his coat.

"Cold," I grumbled in protest.

"I know, John, but you must have a bit patience. We have to treat you and check that you do not have anything broken," Sherlock assured me.

"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Hudson gasped.

I wondered how my body looked. Probably it was full of wounds and scars. Some old, left by Sherlock treatments.

"Not now, Mrs. Hudson. You can cry later," our Master admonished her.

I could not keep my eyes open. My eyelids were heavy and they did not obey orders, which my brain was trying to teach them. The voices of Sherlock and Mrs Hudson came from a distance, as if they were not in the room with me. Still, cold hands and warm hands alternated on my body, handling it gently, dabbing the wounds and applying soothing ointment on bruises. I fell into a fitful sleep, which woke me up a light touch on the shoulder.

"John, dear, open your eyes. I made you something to eat."

I did what I was asked. Mrs. Hudson was standing by the bed and smiled at me, so sad and sweet.

"I'm fine. It looks worse than it is," I tried to reassure her.

"Of course, dear, I know. Can you sit up?"

I nodded and lifted me, with great effort. The old lady arranged a pillow, so that I could lean my back. From a tray on the bedside table, she picked up a cup of steaming broth, sat on the bed and fed me: "When you are better I will cook some meat for you. This is to give you a bit of energy. The injuries are not serious, but you've lost a lot of blood. You must bring the bandages for a few weeks. At least."

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me, poor dear. It's the least I can do. The Master told me that you saved him. I know you guys have had your problems, but he is not so bad. I heard horrifying things about some of them."

"Really?"

"Of course. Some vampires are real monsters. Others, however, are kind and understanding. I have heard that these struggle to abolish slavery and to restore equal dignity and rights, between the two races."

"I've heard that too."

"It will be a beautiful day, one in which this will happen."

"Yes."

The old lady smiled at me, as if she were a mother, who looked after her sick child: "Rest, my dear. It can be good for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

The woman left the room and I slipped under the covers, looking for the most comfortable position. It was then that I heard the sound of the violin. Sherlock was in the living room, engaged in the interpretation of "Partita No. 2 in D minor" by Johann Sebastian Bach. The music rocked me, as if it were a lullaby, accompanying me in a world without dreams, full of peace and serenity.

 

 

I went in and went out several times from a state of unconsciousness, like sleep. Every now and then there was silence. Every once in a violin playing sweet melodies, I was not worried recognize. I was never alone. Every time I opened my eyes or Mrs. Hudson o Sherlock were by my side, ready to help me, for anything I needed. I do not remember much about those days. The fever had created like a bubble in time, so it was hard to even understand how I had slept.

 

 

I was woken by the silence. It seemed that the world no longer existed. The silence was deep, loud and intense. I felt much better. The forces had returned and I was not so tired, that I could not keep my eyes open. I tried to figure out where I was. I did not recognize the room where I was. The large window, from which filtered only a faint light, the closet, the same bed, there was nothing familiar. The only thing that tickled my memory, it was the smell that floated in the air. It was of Sherlock. It was then that I remembered. I was still in his bedroom. It was to be the night. I looked around the room, searching for an alarm clock and saw him. He was sitting in a chair, placed next to the bed, with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped. He stared at me, as if trying to get into my mind. It was a bit disturbing, but more than frighten me, it intrigued me.

"Observe one who sleeps is your new hobby? Are you trying to deduct my dreams?" I asked with a weary smile.

"Why?"

I tilted my head to the side, confused: "You should be more specific. I'm not good to connect the dots. Especially, when I’m just wake up, sore and weak from loss of blood."

Sherlock shook his head angrily: "Why have you saved my life! I know you were fought yourself. I saw the desire to let me die or kill me make their way into your eyes and I understand your reasons, if you had done it. Instead, you decided to save me. And that your reckless choice is driving me crazy."

I was really stunned. It seemed that the vampire was angry with me because I had not killed him. I did not expect his gratitude, but even anger.

"Your choice, it makes no sense. - Sherlock continued - After what I did to you, especially in the early years, you would have had to kill me and get away, to look for your family. You would not have got very far, of course. Mycroft would have found you and dismembered before losing the title of Consul of Albion, but you'd get even with me. Why did you choose to feed me?"

I sighed: "Do you really not understand? I am a doctor. If I'd had the chance, I would kill you, whenever you have raped me and when you caught me, but not last night. You were helpless and hurt. At that moment, I didn’t see my rapist. I saw someone who needed help and asked me. Also, you mentioned another big reason, because I decided to save you, in your rant.”

Sherlock frowned: "Mycroft?"

"Exact. He has decided to side with the moderate faction of vampires, one that would like to find a way to live peacefully with Humanity, not enslave us. If you died, your brother would have had two choices: take sides with the reactionary faction and crush Humanity under the yoke of slavery, or give up the title of Consul of Albion, leaving his place to Justin Moriarty, which would make the human condition even worse than it is now. In both of these options, Humanity would have had the worst. Deciding to leave you in life, I have only done the good of my race. You have unmasked the plan of James Moriarty, putting a bad light on his brother Justin. The power of Mycroft and faction in favour of Humanity has come out strengthened. This could be a first, albeit small, step towards peace between our races. Why should not I save you?"

Sherlock lowered his head, staring at his hands for some time. When he raised his eyes to me, I read an infinite sadness: "You'll never prove to me something that is not hatred?"

My heart skipped a beat. Hate. Did I really hate Sherlock Holmes? If I wanted to be completely honest, at least with myself, I had to admit that part of me admired him a lot too. He was a man with a brilliant mind and a talented violinist. This did not change that he was also the monster who had raped and beat me. The vampire who knew both moments of ferocity other with tenderness. I hated him?

"I do not hate you. I despise what you did to me, but I can’t help but I think that, if we had met in other circumstances, we could have been friends."

"I always thought that humans were stupid, nothing but bodies to use and dispose of, after having fed. Throughout my life, I have met many people, but most of them bored me very quickly. The few humans with whom I tried to establish an equal relationship, just understand what I was and what I wanted from them, they rejected me, treating me like I was a monster. I was a young vampire and I was hurt by the reaction of those men."

"Did you always be attracted to men?" I asked, curiously.

"Yes. I can feed myself from a woman, but she does not attract me sexually. As I told you, the intercourse is a fundamental part of the act of eating. Give pleasure to our food source is our way to thank them for having fed us."

"So, why rape us?"

"Because when you're considered a monster, you end up acting like one. If you are denied what you ask for, you might as well get it without asking, so you may not be rejected."

"Is it what Victor Trevor did? Did he reject you?" The question came out of my mouth without that I could stop it. I was impressed by that name and I was intrigued. From the way the two vampires had spoken about him, Sherlock must have been in love with that human.

His blue eyes filled with pain. Sherlock looked out the window, as if to collect his thoughts: "Victor Trevor was a young man from upper middle class. His family of lawyers was very rich. We met at a party. I fell in love right away, but I could not tell him what I was. It was already a problem that we had a homosexual relationship, at a time when we were considered perverts. When James told him my true nature, Victor looked at me like I was a monster, an abomination. He was about to leave this house, shouting that he would reveal to all who I was, and that would make me pull the head off. I tried to stop him, but I could not. Victor broke free, escaping my grasp. He fell down the stairs and broke his neck. It was a painful lesson, but I learned that I could neither trust nor fall in love with a human."

"I'm sorry that Trevor has reacted insulting and hurting you. In this age, however, a man who likes men is no longer held up as a different, like a pervert. They may still be some prejudice, of course, but do not affect all mankind. You could find a mate..."

"No human being is happy that someone puts their fangs in their neck, John," he interrupted me, irritated.

"Janine was."

"Who?"

"The girl who fed Alastair Parker. She was in love with her master. It was in this way that Moriarty convinced her to take the poison. Probably, around the world there are many humans loving their vampire. As I recently learned, some of you treat their donors with respect and tenderness. At this point, it is not impossible to fall in love with you."

Sherlock let out a small smile: "You always surprise me. That's why I liked you from the first time we met. You are a stimulating and intriguing man behind that your average looking. When I brought you into this house whenever you defied me, you faced me, you revolted to me and you answered me, without thinking about the consequences of your words, you were not only stimulate my curiosity. This your stubborn resistance made you interesting and fun to me. I have always enjoyed spending time with you, taking you to the limit of endurance, to understand until you'd resisted. I once feared to lose you and it was then that I realized I'd miss you. You were not just an exciting experiment. For this reason, I decided to get you out of your room and turn you into my collaborator, prior to transcription of my notes and then for investigation. And you responded brilliantly, as usual. You have exceeded my expectations. Now ... now I can’t think of my life without you."

"You have a strange way to show your appreciation," I said in a resentful tone.

Sherlock looked away again. I could almost swear that he was embarrassed, but it was a flash and the room was dim. When he looked at me again, he seemed hesitant: "If I asked you to make love with me, would you do it?"

 

 

I think I have my eyes opened wide in surprise. This was the last question that I thought he would make me. I wanted to make love with the monster who had raped me? No, absolutely no. I wanted to make love with the man who I had learned to appreciate and estimate, in the last days? The charming and vulnerable man I had in front of me? The man who confessed to have been rejected and insulted, while he was looking for love? The man who was speaking to me with an open heart? I do not know why I am convinced, now, that Sherlock was telling me the truth. As I knew he was a great actor, I was sure he was sincere. I do not know what this was derived my certainty. Maybe I wanted to believe him because I needed to do. As I did not want to have sex with him, Sherlock had been kind, most of the time. If six years ago he asked me the same question, I would have said no. I would have done nicely, but I made it clear I was not interested in having sex with a man, because I was in love with my wife. Now, I do not know how to explain it. Now, I needed it. After years of violence, the need to be touched with tenderness and kindness was devastating. I needed to feel loved and desired. I felt the desire to be touched and caressed. Also, I would spend the rest of my life with Sherlock. I had no chance to escape Sherlock and he would never me let go. And, even if he did, where would I go? The world was ruled by vampires, who had appropriated the lives of humans. I did not know how to achieve free human and I did not want to disrupt the lives of Mary and Rosie, reappearing in their existence as if I were a ghost. It would have been difficult to be accepted by other humans. They understood what I had been through, without judging me? Sherlock was the man who raped me, but at the same time, it was not more. He needed to be accepted for what he was. I had a desperate need to be loved. We were two men who had the need to rebuild their lives, hoping it was better than the last. My mind was separating the monster from the man in front of me. I was seeing Sherlock with new eyes. He looked vulnerable and fragile, ready to fall apart, even if I had refused him. We were just two lone people, with an immense need for love.

"Yes."

I saw the surprise on his face. The disbelief to the response that had come out of my mouth. Even I could not believe it had been my voice to say yes, but it had, if it had had a life itself.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Even now?"

"Even now."

"John ... you know that sexual intercourse is closely related to the act of eating..."

I saw his hesitation, his fear. They were also mine, but I could not pull back. I lifted the blanket, I took off my panties and I let out my naked body. Sherlock got up from his chair. He stared at me, running his eyes over my body, assessing it. I blushed, as if it were the first time he saw me naked. Inside I grew up an irrational fear of not being more desirable, Sherlock decided that he had had enough and withdrew their offer. I breathed a sigh of relief when he raised his hands and began to unbutton his shirt. Slowly. It was agonizingly slow. I could not wait to feel his hands on me. His mouth on my neck. His skin on mine. The shirt ended up on the floor. Sherlock took off his shoes, his fingers, long and slender, unbuttoned his pants, making them slide elegantly into the ground. With a small step forward, Sherlock stepped out of his pants, which limp at his feet. Without taking his eyes from mine, the vampire took off his socks and panties. He was naked. Standing. Next to the bed. My eyes saw his body thin, dry, appreciating the muscles. When my eyes fell on Sherlock penis, I could not help noticing that it was already hard. I remembered it in me. I remembered the first time, when I had been afraid that he could tear me. This time it was not. I was not afraid he could hurt me. I knew he would not overdone.

Sherlock lay down next to me, putting to one side. My heart was beating fast, as if I was a virgin at his first experience, he did not know what to do and how to meet his lover. In a way, it was so. This was really our first time. Past experience had to be deleted, buried in the past. I realized that I was excited and fearful. I had never been asked to participate. I had always left that Sherlock did what he wanted, using me as if I were a doll with no feelings, not a human being. This time would be different. Even I would have been an active part in our sexual relationship. Sherlock smiled, brushing my chest with a finger, down to the groin, "Are you sure you want to really do this, John? I can stop and let the night to think carefully about what you're doing."

I burst into nervous laughter. That situation was absurd and paradoxical. After all that time, he had done what he wanted, Sherlock asked me if I was sure that I want have sex with him. Of course I was not sure! I was afraid of not bear to have him inside me. I was afraid of being involved in everything from panic and disgust, for me and for him. But if we wanted to have a future, I had to be able to complete the first intercourse. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath: "I do. Really." To further emphasize my decision, I folded and opened my legs, so that Sherlock could have easy access to any part of me he wanted to own. He said nothing. He moved between my legs, putting a finger inside me. The finger easily slid. I did not realize that the lubricant had made an appearance on the scene. While added the second finger, opening me gently, Sherlock put his lips just above my penis. His cold lips and tongue began a journey that led to my nipples. There they stopped. The third finger entered me, to help the other two to open up me well, while Sherlock's lips closed around my left nipple, right over my heart. If he had not done before, Sherlock could not help but heard my heart beat fast, like crazy. The vampire's tongue tickled my nipple, which hardened. The lips sucked, as if I could nurse him. The fingers moved faster and faster, sometimes hitting my prostate and causing waves of pleasure. I was over-stimulated by feelings that Sherlock was causing to my body. I let out a moan of pleasure, which sounded obscene even to my own ears. Sherlock chuckled, without removing his lips from my nipple. I felt his laughter reverberate through my body. My cock was painfully hard, ready to come. But I wanted more. I wanted Sherlock inside me. I wanted his cock, big and hard, entirely within me. I wanted him to move inside me. I wanted his hand on my cock. I wanted that his hand was moving in time with his thrusts. I wanted his teeth on my neck. I wanted to feel his lips sucking my lifeblood from my veins. I wanted to come, shouting his name. I wanted to feel his semen inside me, fill me, claim me and brand me as his. Only his.

"Please…” I pleaded, huskily.

"What, John?" Sherlock asked, stopping. Removing his lips from my tortured nipple. His fingers from my body, open and eager to welcome him.

"Please. Take me."

"John. Look at me."

I was not aware of having closed my eyes. I opened them wide. Sherlock was kneeling between my legs. His cock stiff. His eyes expressed an insatiable hunger. I lifted my pelvis, so he had easy access. Without saying a word, Sherlock firmly grabbed my hips and went inside me. With small delicate and careful thrusts. I went to meet him, eager to have more and more. Sherlock tried to maintain control, not to get carried away by passion, but did not last long. More he moved back and forth, in and out, plus the thrusts became frantic and feverish. Our moans overlapped, becoming almost indistinguishable. A Sherlock’s hand grabbed my cock and moved up and down with the rhythm of the thrusts. I was weary and tired. I felt growing inside me orgasm, but I was not sure if I could survive the intense feelings and emotions, triggered by our intercourse. I arched my back and I exposed my neck. Sherlock sank his fangs into my neck. I came. It was the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced in my life. I could feel the blood flowing quickly from my veins to Sherlock's mouth, sucking greedily, as he was inside me. When he finished feed, he went out from me and stood up.

"No!" I protested. I felt cold. I know it sounds unbelievable, but without Sherlock’s body above me, I felt cold.

"I'll get a towel to clean up you and be right back," Sherlock assured me, giving me a kiss on my forehead. It was a spontaneous gesture, tender and sweet, that affected me deeply. Sherlock quickly returned and cleaned me, efficiently and gently. He tossed the towel on the floor and lay down beside me, covering us both with the sheet and blanket, so he took me in his arms, moving in such a way that his body did support for mine. I felt, however, that Sherlock was tense and treated me like I was a fragile object that could fall apart easily. I smiled, inside me, thinking about what he had done in those years, without worrying about whether or not I could suffer:  "I'm fine," I whispered, turning to look at him, so he understood that I was not lying. I saw the doubt and uncertainty dominate his eyes: "Really, Sherlock, I'm fine. Do not worry. I'm really fine."

Sherlock's face broke into one of those rare smiles that lit up his face: "I’m glad."

"And you, are you okay?"

Sherlock bit his lip, considering the response from me.

"If our relationship has to change..." I began with a sigh, but I was immediately interrupted by Sherlock: "Our relationship has  _already_  changed, John. I don’t even know what we have become, but we are no longer Master and Slave, or Vampire and Donor. And it makes me a bit of fear."

"The change is always scary, Sherlock. Also I am terrified of this. If we want to build something new, we need to come to us with each other, learning to know and respect each other. It will not be easy, but if we are honest, we can make it. Then, what we will become, friends, lovers, enemies, we'll find in the way."

Sherlock frowned, considering my words: "Your blood has never been as good as now."

I tilted my head to the side, smiling to the embarrassment of the vampire: "You have reached the end of your research?" I chuckled.

"I'll have to do other experiments, because once does not give absolute certainty that the result of an experiment is right."

"By agreeing on procedures to follow, of course."

"Obviously."

We smiled both.

"You have to rest. I tried not to take too much blood, but you've been very sick. You need rest to recover completely," Sherlock whispered, mild tone.

"You are right. I'm really exhausted."

"Sleep. I will watch over you and no one will cause you more harm. I promise you."

I put my face to Sherlock's chest while he hugged me. It was a reassuring and warm hug. Exhausted, I sank into Morpheus’ world, without dreams.

 

 

Many things have changed from 1 January 2000. I almost can’t believe it. I have changed a lot in these eight long and troubled years.

Today is December 25, 2008. It is Christmas. The first Christmas I celebrate, since the Vampires have assumed power on Earth. In 2000 the Vampires abolished many human traditions, to make it even more obvious the gap between the Age of Humans and the Age of Vampires. The religious festivities were the first to be eliminated. Even the Vampires, though, followed human festivities and many were opposed to deleting them, so they decided to reinstate them, even allowing humans to continue to follow their own religious festivities. This is the first Christmas of the New Age, but it is no different from those of the previous year.

Yesterday afternoon, Sherlock and I did the Christmas tree, while Mrs. Hudson had prepared some dishes. It was very funny. Sherlock pretended all the time to get bored and take part in this stupid human tradition, irrational and senseless, just to make me happy, but I could see the shine in his eyes. It is a special light, which I always saw, when he is happy and satisfied. And yesterday we were both, happy and satisfied.

Of course, it is now also restored the custom of making gifts to the people you care. So, this time I do not write in a notebook, found in a closet, but on a real diary. Maybe it's strange that I still use paper, when computers have replaced the old methods of writing. It will be my age. It will be that the paper helps me to better focus my thoughts. I do not know. I still prefer the paper and I am grateful for this gift. That's right. This diary is a gift, which Sherlock made me, unexpected and very welcome. I decided to use it to remember how the relationship between Sherlock and me has changed, from March 5, 2002, when he captured me.

As I had suspected, the first notebook, in which told how vampires had become the dominant race on the planet, was not in the closet by accident, but Sherlock had put it in, hoping me to write what I never revealed to him. The curious thing is that he has left it in the hiding place where I guarded it, until now. Because now I know he has read the notebook, I put it in a drawer in our room. I'm going to keep it as proof of how all this had begun. Sherlock has promised he will never read this diary. I do not know if he does it because he does not want to know what I felt for him, until a few months ago. Or because he wants to show me that I can trust him. I'm still hard to accept that everything has changed, but I think it's fair to tell how it happened, because I know some people might think that I'm cheating on my race. Not so. I still disapprove in all respects the way Vampires have come to power and treat Humanity. If anything, someone were to read this diary, I want you to know that, with bit willingness on both sides, we could reach an agreement and live in harmony. That's why I take advantage of this quiet moment to go through the painful journey that led me to where I am today. The fire crackles in the fireplace, the tree lights twinkle, chasing each other in the twilight of the living room, while Sherlock playing his beloved violin, giving me relaxed and serene atmosphere, suitable to reconnect the threads of memories and carry them on paper. He is playing one of my favourite pieces by Johann Sebastian Bach. The work BWV 1004, also known as “Partita No. 2 in D minor”, was the piece that Sherlock played the night when we came back from the vampire court. He played it for me, to help me fall asleep. Since that night, the course of our lives has changed. Since that night, we tried to build an equal relationship. Not all days are happy or easy. Sometimes Sherlock finds it hard to accept my no, but he tries to consider my reasons and to understand my own decisions, without imposing his will. I know that I have to behave like a good pet, when we go out of our small, warm shelter. At the same time, however, I know that Sherlock respect me and that I can speak openly. Perhaps the day will come when we can go out without me to wear a collar and a leash. Perhaps the day will come when a human and a vampire can get out, walking hand in hand, without being singled out and insulted. Maybe. I hope so. My feelings for Sherlock are growing up and I always find myself more at ease with him. I could almost say that I love him, but I'm not so sure. The spectrum of the Stockholm Syndrome always hanging over me, every time I try to analyse my feelings for Sherlock Holmes. Having agreed to have sex with him, it puts a definitive end to his violence. No longer were punishments. Sherlock has become more gentle and tender. I'm lying to myself? I accepted everything not to suffer more violence? Do I lie to myself when I say that we have an equal relationship, within the 221B Baker Street? Is it enough to be happy? I will never have absolute certainty because of my choices. I wonder, however, how much this is really important. In life, nothing is just white or just black, but everything is grey and grey has many shades.

What I am sure of, is that a part of my heart will always belong to Mary and Rosie. Although I have rebuilt a life, here in London of the Vampires, I hope they are free and they live serene and peaceful lives, in a world that does not know the horrors to which I witness. Whichever way evolve my relationship with Sherlock, I'll never stop loving my wife and my daughter. They should tear my heart, for this to happen. I miss them and not a day goes by without my thinking of them, but I'm glad that they have not been captured with me.

Hoping that they have done the same, I decided to build my future. It's no use crying about what happened, because we can’t change it, while it is important to build my future with Sherlock, trying not to take with us the burden of our past. With this, I do not mean that I have forgotten everything. A part of me will never forgive Sherlock for what he did to me. I understand, however, his motives. I do not condone and do not approve of, but I’m also well aware that, with roles reversed, I would have acted as he did.

This morning, we woke up with the city covered by snow. Facing the window, looking on Baker Street, I watched the snowflakes, dancing music only they could hear, as they fell graceful and soft, from a bright and white sky. Sherlock hugged me from behind, gripping my hips with his arms while folding my back to his chest. We were like this, watching in silence with the beauty of the white blanket that covered everything, as if to erase the horror and pain that had permeated my life in recent years. At least, I watched the snow fall. I'm not sure what really interested to Sherlock, because, every so often, I could feel his breath, his tongue, his mouth, his nose caressed my neck, my cheek, my hair. It was strange, but also very natural. And I was finally in peace, serene and happy, as I had been for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s corner
> 
> This chapter is the end of the second part of the series "My beloved hated enemy", I hope that you enjoyed the evolution of the relationship between John and Sherlock.  
> Thanks to those who have read the history and have left kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions.
> 
> I’m really sorry, but I can’t translate the third part, because this is a very busy time. Family and work require a lot of energy and I have only time to write in Italian. Maybe I can translate the third part later, but I can’t promise anything. If someone wants to translate the third part, I would have no objection. Otherwise, we can say that you deserve a happy ending, because you have endured my bad English.
> 
> Thanks for your support. A big hug.
> 
> Ciao.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's corner
> 
> Welcome back to those who came to read the second part of "My hated beloved enemy", after reading the first part. Welcome to those arrived now, reading this story. To understand what is happening, it isn’t necessary to have read the first part, "The Era of the Vampires", although its play may make it easier to understand some passages.
> 
> John continues his story. A complicated case is putting a strain on Sherlock’s capacity. It will really help the involvement of John? The fact that the doctor is involved in the investigation of Sherlock, will change the dynamics in the relationship between John and the vampire?  
> If I have sparked your curiosity, the event is scheduled for Monday.
> 
> Thanks for coming up here to read.
> 
> If someone wants to just leave a comment to tell me what you think of this second part, it will always be welcome.
> 
> Ciao!


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